Keepin' it on the 10's and 2's

I learned to drive much later in life than most other kids. In Germany, where I spent my teen years, you have to be at least 18 to get a driver's license (but only 16 to drink! ( : ), and I didn't care much to learn anyway. I took taxis, trains, and buses everywhere I needed to go. Their public transit system is a lot safer and more comfortable over there, and I never had much inclination to get behind the wheel myself. But eventually there came a time when I had turned nineteen and moved back to the States when I just didn't want to ask my parents to drop me off at the movies any more.

So my parents enrolled me in the D.A. Driving School in Fayetteville, NC. (My husband still laughs at the certificate I received from there.) My parents thought it might be advantageous for the familial relationship if they sent me to a school rather than teach me themselves--I never did take direction very well from those closest to me. It always took a stranger to teach me anything.

I've been thinking a lot in the past few weeks about one of the lessons that the old instructor imparted on me. "Keep your hands firmly on the 10 and 2," he said. When I looked a little baffled, he told me, "treat the steering wheel like a clock...keep your hands firmly where the ten and the two would be." He explained how some more "seasoned" drivers I would ride with would undoubtedly drive with their hands at the bottom of the steering wheel, or worse yet, with only one hand. "How much control do you think they have over the car if something runs out in front them or they hit an unexpected pothole?" he implored. "Virtually none!" he warned. It's something I've never been able to shake. Every time I catch myself absentmindedly steering with only one hand, I'm jarred back into recognition by the dogged insistence of his words.

The older I get, however, the more his instructions seem to take on an increasingly metaphorical air. I've always tried to keep a very firm grip on the "10 and the 2's," lest I lose control if some unforeseen force presents itself. Sometimes it doesn't work--sooner or later you're going to hit something. Or fall asleep at the wheel...and wake up to find what used to be a Lexus has now become a minivan. But I digress. Suddenly when your road home is at your twelve and your beautiful baby boy is at your six, keeping your hands on the ten and twos really starts making all the difference.