I wrote this post last weekend, but since it’s about buying my dad a Father’s Day gift and sometimes he reads this blog I’m waiting until Monday to post. However, I could not wait until Monday to write it, because I don’t want to lose any of my annoyance or vigor in this subject.
I officially hate Dick’s Sporting Goods. I will never go there again.
The thing is, I have all these negative emotions not because some A-hole sales person pissed me off, not because they royally screwed up an online order, not because as I walking in the store they ass raped me and then sold off my first born child. No, I hate them simply because they suck.
…
Correction The Dick’s Sporting Goods at the Hill Country Galleria in Bee Caves, Texas sucks.
This store has got to be the crappiest sports store I’ve ever stepped into. Which really disappointed me because A: The only other Dick’s I’ve ever been in was the one in San Antonio at the Rim and that store is freaking AWESOME and B: I really needed to get my dad a father’s day gift that day, since I didn’t have the dog with me and could therefor go shopping without my dog passing out due to heat exhaustion in my car. The San Antonio store is like two stories and has “stuff” for like every sport you could dream about participating in and well, I didn’t spend a lot of time looking like crazy in depth, but it seemed really fabulous. Oh, AND (just to add some icing) it’s not like I was walking into Dick’s with one random extremely specific piece of sporting equipment I wanted to buy. In fact I had a list of multiple ideas of things I could get my father – none being very specific – and I was still disappointed.
Item #1: Texas A&M athletic shorts.
My Dad likes to lounge around the house in workout/athletic shorts. I just happen to be an expert on these since Boyfriend owns approximately 43 pairs of this specific type of shorts therefor making me an expert in buying them. I know to look for a good drawstring and deep pockets and logos or prints sewn into the shorts instead of just stamped on. I got this. (Okay, so I know what you’re thinking, this is maybe sorta kinda a specific thing and I said in the above paragraph that I wasn’t looking for specific things, but really in Austin, TX looking for university wear of ANY school in Texas isn’t weird. We don’t have a professional team in my city, so collegiate wear is EVERYWHERE.)
First of all, the Support Your Team sections was dismally small. Like, I’ve seen dorm rooms bigger than this area. I kept turning the corner thinking that there had to be more of a selection on the other side, but the other side was full of those Nike running shorts that only serious runners (you know the ones with the tiny little hats and bottled water belts) and sorority girls wears. Which by the way, before you start thinking “BS Lemon Lady I’ve seen you sport those" I wear the $7.99 knockoffs from Academy. Thank you very much.) Seriously they could have renamed Dick’s and made it “Sorority Girl and Serious Runners with Small Hat and Water Bottle Belts Sporting Goods” but I get it. Nothing runs of the tongue better than Dick’s.
(coughthatswhatshesaidcough)
Back to the Support Your Team section… I get that I live in a city that at times feels like it’s been painted in Burn Orange. I get this. I understand this. In fact, I fully support this as I went to that school myself. (Actually if you want to get technical my Dad fully supports this since he paid for my education, but that’s kinda a sore subject around my house.) So, I expected to find more Longhorns stamped on things than anything maroon and white, but when I say that there was literally two different A&M Tee Shirts and that was it for anything pro Aggies I’m being completely honest. I mean come on Dick’s A&M is only 120 miles away and is the second largest school in the State of Texas… where is your love and support? I think I should also let y’all know that there really wasn’t that much UT clothing either. What was taking up 65% of the dorm room sized area? Texas Ranger crap. And you know that if they had sucked last year the way they have always sucked there would have only been like three jerseys and a lone baseball hat. It was just an extremely disappointing section of an extremely disappointing store.
Item #2: Fun, Random Golf Accessories.
When in doubt, go to the golf area. I have no idea what any of that crap is but it always seems exciting to Boyfriend who golfs and Dad golfs so… yeah Dad’s getting some golf… stuff. Except there is no random golf crap area. What??? Where are all the golf gloves, golf towels, golf rangefinders, golf ball cleaners, golf watches…??? Where are these things??? Let me tell you, they are not at the Dick’s in Bee Caves, so don’t look there. I mean I could either buy him a box of balls (with the store I’m at somewhere there is a Dick in the Box joke, I just can’t get there) or like a golf tee. That’s it.
No thank you Dick’s. I’m not that desperate and I love my father more.
Item #3: Fun Pool Toys.
My dad turns into an eight year old when around water. Pool, beach, river, whatever he doesn’t discriminate. Last year my parents built a pool in their backyard and my father is in Heaven. (To be honest I’m in Heaven, too, when I’m lucky enough to get to spend a weekend there.) So, I thought some fun pool toys would make a great gift. Rafts! Floaties! Random sinking things! Oh, except Dick’s had nothing. Not a noodle. Not a flipper. Nothing. They did have $50 goggles and underwater weights. Because nothing says Happy Father’s Day like overpriced, lime green, protective eye wear and a really heavy spongy weight that might as well scream, “You need to lose a few pounds!”. Fail Dick’s. You fail.
Item #4: Golf Shirt.
Okay, I know, a golf shirt is not exciting at all and honestly this was not on my list when I was all bright eyed and bushy tailed 20 minutes ago when I entered the soul sucking store that is Dick’s. But, I figured I might as well take a look. Actually, at this point I was just wondering around with a UBBER confused look on my face and I needed to focus on something. GOLF WEAR! All hope is not lost! I can actually get a gift out of this expedition.
I pulled myself together and walked to men’s golf clothing. Oh look a nice shirt - $78. Oh look another nice shirt - $69.99. Oh loo - $112!!! (I kid you not, I saw a normal looking red and blue golf shirt for $112.) I feel kinda bad writing this, because I don’t want y’all to think I don’t love my father, because I do. I would spend thousands on this man if I could afford it. My new job is awesome, but I’m not making quite as much as I was and I’m trying really hard (sometimes unsuccessfully) to live on a budget. My biggest problem with these prices are not that they are expensive. I get it that Nike is expensive. I get it that golf is just an expensive sport all around. What I don’t understand is mother F-ing Dick’s!!!
…wait for it…
IT IS THE FUCKING THURSDAY BEFORE FUCKING FATHER’S DAY!!! WHERE ARE THE GOD DAMN SALES DICK’S!!! ISN’T THIS YOUR BIGGEST WEEKEND OF YOUR WHOLE FUCKING YEAR!!! … FUCK!!!
Okay, I feel better now. This post is exactly the reason why I need to start going back to yoga. Well, this post and my love for all things that start with Mexican and end with Food. Hopefully my father likes his Father’s Day gift that I just ended up ordering online while my dog napped at my feet.
(Sorry for all the cursing, Dad. But I did it all for you…)
Showing posts with label Dad. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Dad. Show all posts
Monday, June 20, 2011
Wednesday, February 23, 2011
Sister is Having a Baby! Oh, And Just One Of The Times She Was Completely Evil To Me...
My sister is in labor right now with her second kiddo, who will be my second nephew. I honor of my wonderful sister, I thought I’d tell you guys about the one time she SCARED THE CRAP out of me. She’s such a good mom, really…
The story takes place when I was in kindergarten and we lived in the great state of Rhode Island. My sister was in the fourth grade and surprisingly this is not a tale of about how we shared a room for the first (and only) time. Nor, is this the story of us lying in our beds at night making up stories about the super scary Greek tiles that hung on the wall outside of our room. (Although next time I go home to the parent’s house I’ll take photos of those tiles so you guys can be the judge of how frightening they really are.) This story takes place on the road. This story takes place while my family and I were doing that super scary, incredibly creepy act of… driving through New England to look at the fall foliage! DunDunDun!!!! (Insert evil music)
At this time in my life I needed… well structure. I find this funny because now I think I’m a pretty laid back kinda gal. I mean you should see me and Boyfriend try to pick a restaurant some times. I’m all, “I don’t care where we go. Where do you want to go?” Then he says, “Well, what do you want?” “Then I answer, “I don’t care, what do you want?” And this goes back and forth until one of us snaps and finally says something (usually me) and then Boyfriend says “Nah, I don’t want that.”
Anyway, I was not like this as a five year old. As a five year old I went to half a day kindergarten and played the same game on the bus every morning. (Super Mario Brothers) As a five year old I came home every day from kindergarten and my mom made me the same lunch… every day. (Campbell’s Clam Chowder Soup) We did the dishes every day after dinner because we didn’t have a dish washer, and it calmed me that our dog barked incisively at the same squirrels out in our back yard every day. I was good as long as things went according to plan. But, on that cool, autumn day things did not go according to plan…
We got up early and as a family we all piled into the minivan and headed out into the great unknown. I was okay with this because that was that plan. We drove all around New England that day. (So I don’t really remember exactly where or for how long we drove and if I write, “Oh we drove thought New York and Vermont and Maine and heck probably a good 500 miles into Canada” -like I remember us doing- I’ll get a call tonight from my dad correcting me that really we only got to Connecticut, barely.) The point of this story is that we were a ways from our little home and it started to get dark. My parent’s brilliant idea was to simply pull over at the next Holliday Inn and purchase a room for the night.
First hotel…
Parents: “We require a room good sir.”
Hotel Guy: “There’s no room in the inn…”
Second hotel…
Parents: “We require a room good sir.”
Hotel Guy: “Yeah, can’t stay here…” (You should read that in the same voice as the snot kid who tells Forest Gump, “You can’t sit here” on the bus his first day of school. Just FYI.)
Forty Fifth Hotel…
Parents: “Just please let us give you money for a place to stay!!!
”
Hotel Guy: “Look people we are in the middle of prime leaf looking season. Did you honestly think you could just pack up your kids and maybe a few granola bars and be set of the day? Did you honestly think that these trees aren’t pulling in record breaking viewers this year? I mean look outside! Look at those colors! And you people just think you can waltz right in here and get a room like its some slow Fourth of July weekend? Ha! You turrists have a lot of learning to do.”
Parents: “Please we didn’t know… WE DIDN’T KNOW…”
Hotel Guy: “I know. I know. And you know what? I like you two, so I’m gonna help you out. I’m looking here on my computer and it looks like our sister hotel in south New Jersey just might have a broom closet you could sleep in for the night. Let’s see here… its 11:30 now and it takes about 5 hours to get there, so you could get a good 45 minutes of sleep in before they would have to get into that closet to find the waffle irons for breakfast. You better hurry.”
While this lovely conversation is going on in the hotel lobby, this is being said in the car…
Me: “I’m tired…”
Sister: “You know what going to happen, right?”
Me: “Um, no. What? What’s going to happen, Sister?”
Sister: “We are never going to find a place to stay tonight, and you know what that means, right?”
Me: “Mom and Dad will make a reservation? Because if they make a reservation they have to let us sleep there.”
Sister: “They can’t make a reservation for the same night that it is. Don’t you get it? Mom and Dad didn’t make a reservation. They didn’t prepare at all. They failed you. And you know what that means, right?”
Me: “Mom and Dad can fail us? I don’t get it…”
Sister: “IT MEANS WE WILL HAVE TO SLEEP IN THE CAR!!!”
I don’t know if words on the internet can express how much this freaked me out. Sleeping in the car is what homeless people did. Sleeping in the car meant my parents didn’t have all the answers and couldn’t fix everything. Sleeping in the car meant sleeping without my blanket. Sleeping in the car meant it would get really cold. Sleeping in the car meant wondering if our dog would die at home because we weren’t there to let him outside or feed him. In my mind, sleeping in the car was not an option.
But then my parents came out of the hotel lobby and got back in the car without a room key
.
Sister: “So did we get a room?”
Mom: “Nope, not here.”
Dad: “Yeah, this is getting ridiculous. I guess we’ll just have to sleep in the car.”
Parents: “Hahaha!”
And while my parents laughed away their worries in the front seat my sister turned to me and gave me an evil, evil smile…
To this day I don’t like not knowing where I’ll be sleeping. If I’m going over to a friend’s house and they pull out a giant bottle of tequila, I’d like to know if I can crash on the couch or do they have an extra room. When I was dating Ex-Boyfriend we took the train from Berlin to Poland and the first thing I made him do was find us a hotel room. In the back of my mind I knew I had taken a ten hour train to Eastern Europe on a whim, and everything I owned within 3000 miles was in a small duffle bag, but damn it I was going to have a bed to sleep in that night if we had to walk to every hotel and hostel in Krakow!
Oh, and in case you’re wondering we just ended up driving all the way home that scary night when I was five.
The story takes place when I was in kindergarten and we lived in the great state of Rhode Island. My sister was in the fourth grade and surprisingly this is not a tale of about how we shared a room for the first (and only) time. Nor, is this the story of us lying in our beds at night making up stories about the super scary Greek tiles that hung on the wall outside of our room. (Although next time I go home to the parent’s house I’ll take photos of those tiles so you guys can be the judge of how frightening they really are.) This story takes place on the road. This story takes place while my family and I were doing that super scary, incredibly creepy act of… driving through New England to look at the fall foliage! DunDunDun!!!! (Insert evil music)
At this time in my life I needed… well structure. I find this funny because now I think I’m a pretty laid back kinda gal. I mean you should see me and Boyfriend try to pick a restaurant some times. I’m all, “I don’t care where we go. Where do you want to go?” Then he says, “Well, what do you want?” “Then I answer, “I don’t care, what do you want?” And this goes back and forth until one of us snaps and finally says something (usually me) and then Boyfriend says “Nah, I don’t want that.”
Anyway, I was not like this as a five year old. As a five year old I went to half a day kindergarten and played the same game on the bus every morning. (Super Mario Brothers) As a five year old I came home every day from kindergarten and my mom made me the same lunch… every day. (Campbell’s Clam Chowder Soup) We did the dishes every day after dinner because we didn’t have a dish washer, and it calmed me that our dog barked incisively at the same squirrels out in our back yard every day. I was good as long as things went according to plan. But, on that cool, autumn day things did not go according to plan…
We got up early and as a family we all piled into the minivan and headed out into the great unknown. I was okay with this because that was that plan. We drove all around New England that day. (So I don’t really remember exactly where or for how long we drove and if I write, “Oh we drove thought New York and Vermont and Maine and heck probably a good 500 miles into Canada” -like I remember us doing- I’ll get a call tonight from my dad correcting me that really we only got to Connecticut, barely.) The point of this story is that we were a ways from our little home and it started to get dark. My parent’s brilliant idea was to simply pull over at the next Holliday Inn and purchase a room for the night.
First hotel…
Parents: “We require a room good sir.”
Hotel Guy: “There’s no room in the inn…”
Second hotel…
Parents: “We require a room good sir.”
Hotel Guy: “Yeah, can’t stay here…” (You should read that in the same voice as the snot kid who tells Forest Gump, “You can’t sit here” on the bus his first day of school. Just FYI.)
Forty Fifth Hotel…
Parents: “Just please let us give you money for a place to stay!!!
”
Hotel Guy: “Look people we are in the middle of prime leaf looking season. Did you honestly think you could just pack up your kids and maybe a few granola bars and be set of the day? Did you honestly think that these trees aren’t pulling in record breaking viewers this year? I mean look outside! Look at those colors! And you people just think you can waltz right in here and get a room like its some slow Fourth of July weekend? Ha! You turrists have a lot of learning to do.”
Parents: “Please we didn’t know… WE DIDN’T KNOW…”
Hotel Guy: “I know. I know. And you know what? I like you two, so I’m gonna help you out. I’m looking here on my computer and it looks like our sister hotel in south New Jersey just might have a broom closet you could sleep in for the night. Let’s see here… its 11:30 now and it takes about 5 hours to get there, so you could get a good 45 minutes of sleep in before they would have to get into that closet to find the waffle irons for breakfast. You better hurry.”
While this lovely conversation is going on in the hotel lobby, this is being said in the car…
Me: “I’m tired…”
Sister: “You know what going to happen, right?”
Me: “Um, no. What? What’s going to happen, Sister?”
Sister: “We are never going to find a place to stay tonight, and you know what that means, right?”
Me: “Mom and Dad will make a reservation? Because if they make a reservation they have to let us sleep there.”
Sister: “They can’t make a reservation for the same night that it is. Don’t you get it? Mom and Dad didn’t make a reservation. They didn’t prepare at all. They failed you. And you know what that means, right?”
Me: “Mom and Dad can fail us? I don’t get it…”
Sister: “IT MEANS WE WILL HAVE TO SLEEP IN THE CAR!!!”
I don’t know if words on the internet can express how much this freaked me out. Sleeping in the car is what homeless people did. Sleeping in the car meant my parents didn’t have all the answers and couldn’t fix everything. Sleeping in the car meant sleeping without my blanket. Sleeping in the car meant it would get really cold. Sleeping in the car meant wondering if our dog would die at home because we weren’t there to let him outside or feed him. In my mind, sleeping in the car was not an option.
But then my parents came out of the hotel lobby and got back in the car without a room key
.
Sister: “So did we get a room?”
Mom: “Nope, not here.”
Dad: “Yeah, this is getting ridiculous. I guess we’ll just have to sleep in the car.”
Parents: “Hahaha!”
And while my parents laughed away their worries in the front seat my sister turned to me and gave me an evil, evil smile…
To this day I don’t like not knowing where I’ll be sleeping. If I’m going over to a friend’s house and they pull out a giant bottle of tequila, I’d like to know if I can crash on the couch or do they have an extra room. When I was dating Ex-Boyfriend we took the train from Berlin to Poland and the first thing I made him do was find us a hotel room. In the back of my mind I knew I had taken a ten hour train to Eastern Europe on a whim, and everything I owned within 3000 miles was in a small duffle bag, but damn it I was going to have a bed to sleep in that night if we had to walk to every hotel and hostel in Krakow!
Oh, and in case you’re wondering we just ended up driving all the way home that scary night when I was five.
Monday, November 8, 2010
Driving: Watching Sister Make a Fool of Herself and How My Parents Taught Me...
Lately I’ve been carrying around small notebook and writing down any good ideas I think of for my blog. This is a good thing because I don’t sit in front of my computer with writers block because I can’t remember that really funny thing Boyfriend said last night. The notebook is a bad thing because last night I dreamed that something slightly… okay not slightly… really embarrassing happened while I was trying to buy a bottle of Disaronno Amaretto (which I don’t even drink) and after I left the store in shame (without my alcohol) I thought to myself, in the dream, “well at least this will make a good blog post.” Swear to God people… I am now putting myself in awkward embarrassing situations in my dreams so you people can have a laugh and I can quietly crawl under a rock and die. FML…
But, If I’m going down, I’m taking my sister with me!
Today I’d like to write about that oh so important time in a young girls life when she learns how to drive.
But first I want to write about when my sister learned to drive.
My sister started learning to drive when we lived in Alabama. I’m sure I don’t know the whole story of every time Mom and Dad would take her out on the road, but I do remember a few things. The first is that I was extremely jealous of my sister getting behind the wheel. Looking back this is pretty funny. I mean I was in 6th grade, so I was nowhere near being old enough to learn to drive. I didn’t care that my sister was dating and I wasn’t. I didn’t care that she was in high school and I wasn’t. I didn’t care that she played an instrument and I didn’t. But, the first day mom pulled over at the entrance of our neighborhood and turned to Sister and asked if she wanted to drive the rest of the way, I was pissed! Driving, like most things adult get to do, looked like so much fun and at that point in my life I was pretty sure my sister thought I was the biggest nerd, so I immediately started hating her for being able to drive.
My sister learning to drive was hilarious. Her first big obstacle was stop signs. Sister would start slowing down for a stop sign like a block before the stop sign, and this is our neighborhood when she was only going 15 MPH anyway. Then she would dramatically come to a stop about ten feet behind the actual stop sign, meaning she couldn’t see around the corner to see if it was okay to continue after the stop. OMG my mom used to get so frustrated…
Mom: “Daughter! Keep driving forward! You are nowhere near the stop sign!”
Sister: “Stop yelling at me mom! I am right at the stop sign! If you count the nose of the car I am practically at the sign!”
Me: (to myself) “Haha, she sucks at driving. When I get to drive I’ll be awesome.”
Then I remember my sister having a very hard time judging the distance between her car and other cars on the road. This happened one time when my whole family was out driving to who knows where and Sister got to drive. We were driving on some pretty little country road with only two lanes. And my sister kinda drove like this…
Dad: “Daughter! Drive in your lane!”
Sister: “I am in my lane! If I get any closer to the side of the road I’ll be in the bushes.”
Dad: “That’s what I meant! You’re driving on the shoulder of the road. Move the car closer to the center.”
Mom: “Now, Husband, don’t yell, but really Daughter you’re driving in the dirt and it’s not good for the tires. Now gently ease the car back into the center of the road.”
Sister: “I’m on the road! If I get over anymore to the left I’ll hit the oncoming traffic!”
Dad: “You are nowhere near the oncoming traffic! In fact I think the oncoming traffic might flag us down to make sure our car is okay because you are driving off the road.”
Sister: “Stop yelling at me!”
Dad: “I’m not yelling at you. Drive better!”
Mom: “Let’s all just calm down…”
Sister: “Mom!”
Dad: “Daughter!”
Me: (to myself) “Hahaha!!!”
Like I said, I don’t know all the gory details of Sister learning to drive, but I do remember mine.
First of all I didn’t get to learn how to drive at 15 and take my driver’s test at 16 like most normal teenagers. We lived in Germany and the driving age there is 18 or 17 if you already had a license in the states. I did not. So I got in a few more years of being driven around by my parents and begging my friends for rides. The very first time I ever drove a car was in Germany when Ex-Boyfriend Matt asked if I wanted to drive his car in this old abandoned lot.
Ex-Boyfriend Matt: “Hey, you’ve driven before, right? Wanna drive my Opel around this abandoned parking lot?”
Me: “Of course I’ve driven before! Hell yes I wanna drive! Pull over and hand over the keys!”
Ex-Boyfriend Matt: (pulling the car over and getting out of the driver’s seat) “Yeah, this sounds like a great idea and not at all irresponsible of me!”
Me: “Buckle up kid. I’m a pro.”
Yeah, I wasn’t and Ex-Boyfriend Matt quickly demanded I pull over and give his keys back and he never ever asked me if I wanted to drive again. But the first time driving with my father was the best time ever and if by “best time ever” I mean horrible.
My dad told me one day during the week when I was a junior in high school that he wanted to start teaching me to drive. My first thought was “AWESOME I FINALLY GET TO DRIVE!” and my second thought was, “wait Lemon Lady when your father tries to teach you to do something and you’re not good at it you get very defensive and end up in tears with your father swearing at a very high decibel that no, he’s not in fact yelling at you… remember when he took you to the driving range and tried to teach you how to hit a golf ball?” But that thought was quickly covered up by, “AWESOME I FINALLY GET TO DRIVE!”
That weekend Dad drove me to the high school parking lot right there on base and handed over the keys to his Honda Accord. I got behind the wheel and waited patiently as he went over what every single button, knob, and gage’s purpose was. I waited while he spent 10 minutes making sure my seat and mirrors were adjusted perfectly. After what seemed like an eternity behind the wheel he finally let me turn the car on and drive down the parking lot row.
Me: (to myself) “OMFG! I’m driving!!!”
Dad: “Good job. Keep her at the same constant speed and get ready for to turn left at the end of the row and drive down the next row.”
Me: “Okay Dad, sure.” (to myself) “Yeah I’m going to turn this car. Watch me turn this fine Japanese automobile. You like that Accord? You like that nice and easy left hand turn?”
Dad: “Nice turn.”
Me: “Thanks.” (to myself) “Who has two thumbs and is the best left hand turner driving this car at this very moment? Me, that’s who.”
Dad: “Okay and pull to a stop right here.”
Me: (stopping) “Okay. Can we do right hand turns now? I’m sure I’ll be even more awesome at right hand turns.”
Dad: “Nope, let’s work on backing into this parking space.”
Yeah, you read that right. I had been driving for all of 37 seconds and my dad has me stop and try to back into a parking space! BACK INTO A PARKING SPACE!!! I didn’t even know if I could perform a right hand turn! For all I knew I was the Zoolander of driving and my father wanted to start on backing into parking spaces! Yeah, about 30 minutes later we were back home with me wanting to wash the tears off my face and my father wondering either A, “Why didn’t I have boys?” or B, “How F-ing hard is it to back into a parking space? What’s her problem?”
After that my mom and the driving school taught me to drive my senior year. I turned right on red without stopping once while driving with Mom and she freaked out. (Hello, we were fine…) But then she hurt herself and I had to drive her across San Antonio to the hospital before I had really driven on the highway in driving class. So, yup, that’s how my parents taught me to drive… backing into spaces before I knew what a turn signal was and driving my paralyzed mother, who could only lay in the front seat and pray I knew where I was going, to the Emergency Room when I should have been in 1st period.
I love my parents.
But, If I’m going down, I’m taking my sister with me!
Today I’d like to write about that oh so important time in a young girls life when she learns how to drive.
But first I want to write about when my sister learned to drive.
My sister started learning to drive when we lived in Alabama. I’m sure I don’t know the whole story of every time Mom and Dad would take her out on the road, but I do remember a few things. The first is that I was extremely jealous of my sister getting behind the wheel. Looking back this is pretty funny. I mean I was in 6th grade, so I was nowhere near being old enough to learn to drive. I didn’t care that my sister was dating and I wasn’t. I didn’t care that she was in high school and I wasn’t. I didn’t care that she played an instrument and I didn’t. But, the first day mom pulled over at the entrance of our neighborhood and turned to Sister and asked if she wanted to drive the rest of the way, I was pissed! Driving, like most things adult get to do, looked like so much fun and at that point in my life I was pretty sure my sister thought I was the biggest nerd, so I immediately started hating her for being able to drive.
My sister learning to drive was hilarious. Her first big obstacle was stop signs. Sister would start slowing down for a stop sign like a block before the stop sign, and this is our neighborhood when she was only going 15 MPH anyway. Then she would dramatically come to a stop about ten feet behind the actual stop sign, meaning she couldn’t see around the corner to see if it was okay to continue after the stop. OMG my mom used to get so frustrated…
Mom: “Daughter! Keep driving forward! You are nowhere near the stop sign!”
Sister: “Stop yelling at me mom! I am right at the stop sign! If you count the nose of the car I am practically at the sign!”
Me: (to myself) “Haha, she sucks at driving. When I get to drive I’ll be awesome.”
Then I remember my sister having a very hard time judging the distance between her car and other cars on the road. This happened one time when my whole family was out driving to who knows where and Sister got to drive. We were driving on some pretty little country road with only two lanes. And my sister kinda drove like this…
Dad: “Daughter! Drive in your lane!”
Sister: “I am in my lane! If I get any closer to the side of the road I’ll be in the bushes.”
Dad: “That’s what I meant! You’re driving on the shoulder of the road. Move the car closer to the center.”
Mom: “Now, Husband, don’t yell, but really Daughter you’re driving in the dirt and it’s not good for the tires. Now gently ease the car back into the center of the road.”
Sister: “I’m on the road! If I get over anymore to the left I’ll hit the oncoming traffic!”
Dad: “You are nowhere near the oncoming traffic! In fact I think the oncoming traffic might flag us down to make sure our car is okay because you are driving off the road.”
Sister: “Stop yelling at me!”
Dad: “I’m not yelling at you. Drive better!”
Mom: “Let’s all just calm down…”
Sister: “Mom!”
Dad: “Daughter!”
Me: (to myself) “Hahaha!!!”
Like I said, I don’t know all the gory details of Sister learning to drive, but I do remember mine.
First of all I didn’t get to learn how to drive at 15 and take my driver’s test at 16 like most normal teenagers. We lived in Germany and the driving age there is 18 or 17 if you already had a license in the states. I did not. So I got in a few more years of being driven around by my parents and begging my friends for rides. The very first time I ever drove a car was in Germany when Ex-Boyfriend Matt asked if I wanted to drive his car in this old abandoned lot.
Ex-Boyfriend Matt: “Hey, you’ve driven before, right? Wanna drive my Opel around this abandoned parking lot?”
Me: “Of course I’ve driven before! Hell yes I wanna drive! Pull over and hand over the keys!”
Ex-Boyfriend Matt: (pulling the car over and getting out of the driver’s seat) “Yeah, this sounds like a great idea and not at all irresponsible of me!”
Me: “Buckle up kid. I’m a pro.”
Yeah, I wasn’t and Ex-Boyfriend Matt quickly demanded I pull over and give his keys back and he never ever asked me if I wanted to drive again. But the first time driving with my father was the best time ever and if by “best time ever” I mean horrible.
My dad told me one day during the week when I was a junior in high school that he wanted to start teaching me to drive. My first thought was “AWESOME I FINALLY GET TO DRIVE!” and my second thought was, “wait Lemon Lady when your father tries to teach you to do something and you’re not good at it you get very defensive and end up in tears with your father swearing at a very high decibel that no, he’s not in fact yelling at you… remember when he took you to the driving range and tried to teach you how to hit a golf ball?” But that thought was quickly covered up by, “AWESOME I FINALLY GET TO DRIVE!”
That weekend Dad drove me to the high school parking lot right there on base and handed over the keys to his Honda Accord. I got behind the wheel and waited patiently as he went over what every single button, knob, and gage’s purpose was. I waited while he spent 10 minutes making sure my seat and mirrors were adjusted perfectly. After what seemed like an eternity behind the wheel he finally let me turn the car on and drive down the parking lot row.
Me: (to myself) “OMFG! I’m driving!!!”
Dad: “Good job. Keep her at the same constant speed and get ready for to turn left at the end of the row and drive down the next row.”
Me: “Okay Dad, sure.” (to myself) “Yeah I’m going to turn this car. Watch me turn this fine Japanese automobile. You like that Accord? You like that nice and easy left hand turn?”
Dad: “Nice turn.”
Me: “Thanks.” (to myself) “Who has two thumbs and is the best left hand turner driving this car at this very moment? Me, that’s who.”
Dad: “Okay and pull to a stop right here.”
Me: (stopping) “Okay. Can we do right hand turns now? I’m sure I’ll be even more awesome at right hand turns.”
Dad: “Nope, let’s work on backing into this parking space.”
Yeah, you read that right. I had been driving for all of 37 seconds and my dad has me stop and try to back into a parking space! BACK INTO A PARKING SPACE!!! I didn’t even know if I could perform a right hand turn! For all I knew I was the Zoolander of driving and my father wanted to start on backing into parking spaces! Yeah, about 30 minutes later we were back home with me wanting to wash the tears off my face and my father wondering either A, “Why didn’t I have boys?” or B, “How F-ing hard is it to back into a parking space? What’s her problem?”
After that my mom and the driving school taught me to drive my senior year. I turned right on red without stopping once while driving with Mom and she freaked out. (Hello, we were fine…) But then she hurt herself and I had to drive her across San Antonio to the hospital before I had really driven on the highway in driving class. So, yup, that’s how my parents taught me to drive… backing into spaces before I knew what a turn signal was and driving my paralyzed mother, who could only lay in the front seat and pray I knew where I was going, to the Emergency Room when I should have been in 1st period.
I love my parents.
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