I was given a box today that has 365 questions or prompts that will help me create a personal history. This may or may not be terribly boring for all of you, but I think I’m going to try it. I have been reading “The Artist’s Way” and it suggests that I write 3 full “morning pages” at the start of each day. I have been trying to do these faithfully, but they are making me feel like a ramble-y lunatic much of the time, and I think this little box of direction will be just the thing to provide writing exercises with a bit more focus. Since this little blog is my designated space for these things, I have decided to write these things here. Please don’t feel obligated to read them if they sound boring. My entries for this series will always be titled “My Life Story, One Day at a Time.” (That way you’ll know which ones to skip.) Who knows, maybe Kortland will enjoy them someday when I’m gone...
So, the first question I pulled out is:
Tell about the first time you were ever behind the wheel of a car:
Well, unlike my cavalier, and totally confident older brother Bryan (who, at age 14, stole my mom’s little white car and drove to Castle Dale with a pile of friends in the back seat during a snow storm while my parents were out of town…) I was terrified, and nervous, and a little bit sick in my stomach, and yet still very eager to get behind that wheel for the first time. AND, in true “Laura” fashion, I waited until I was the proper age (15 and 3/4th years old) and in possession of a legitimate “learner’s permit” AND had an authorized adult supervising from the passenger seat before even THINKING about going “there.”
The really sad thing is, my horrendous “sewing pedal foot” (you know, the one that nearly sent two different 4-H teachers straight to the loony bin when they were forced to face the dark, awful, and ultimately humiliating realization that they could. not. for. the. life. of. them. teach a perfectly intelligent 14 year old girl to sew a SQUARE bag…? Yeah… that foot.) turned out to be an equally horrendous “driving foot.” (go figure.) This was coupled with the fact that when my mom and I climbed into my family’s Forest Green, Ford Aerostar Van for the very first time, and she told me to turn the key, and push the brake, and put the van into reverse…
I said “Which one’s the break?”
She about had a fit. (No wait, I'm pretty sure she DID have a fit... and her face went white, and she started mumbling a desperate prayer under her breath...) In short, it did not go well. In long, we had many a white knuckle drive through every safe, secluded Ferron back road my parents could find, and still… I failed my driver’s test. (What? Taking a 90 degree turn at 35 miles per hour is less than desirable in Mr. Card’s book? Fine. Whatev.Wuss.)
If I’m being perfectly honest, I’m not much better to this day. I still catch my girlfriends clutching the "OS" handle (hey, not my name for it...that's just what it is...) in terror whenever I’m driving, but the good news is, I’ve never been in a wreck (knock on wood). I have, however, been “pulled over” more than 20 times in the past 13 years…but I have only had 3 tickets to date… so at least I’m good at talking my way out of the bad driving, yes?