I took driver’s education during the summer a few months before turning 16. I don’t remember much about the classroom part, but I always looked forward to getting behind the wheel. The driver’s ed car was a big blue Chevy station wagon that we drove mostly in town. Looking back, I wish we had more experience driving on highways, gravel roads, and in areas with congested traffic.

The instructor was kind of a dud who never smiled. I think he was focused on making extra money for the least amount of effort. One time, I was parking downtown and, misjudging the distance, struck a parking meter. Both the kids in the back seat burst out laughing. The instructor just glared at me and wrote something on his clipboard.

My 16th birthday fell on a Wednesday, the day my learner’s permit expired. Three days later, on Saturday, I eagerly jumped in the passenger seat so Mother could take me to the driver’s license station. She encouraged me to drive, but I reminded her that my learner’s permit had expired, and it was illegal for me to drive. She responded: “Oh, don’t worry about it. It will be just fine and will give you another chance to get more driving practice.”

When we got to the police station, where the driver’s license station was located, Mother stayed in the car while I went inside. I was over the moon with excitement.

While standing in line, a policeman approached me and asked to see my permit. I showed it to him, and he remarked, “Didn’t I see you driving just a few minutes ago on Main Street?”

I said “yes, my mother was with me,” and he proceeded to explain that since my learner’s permit was expired I was driving illegally. I’d have to wait until next Saturday to get my license. He made doubly sure I understood his mandate that I could not, under any circumstances, be driving the next 7 days.

Leaving the station, I was livid. Jumping into the car, I made dang sure Mother knew it was all her fault as I relayed my experience. Arriving back home, I slammed the car door extra hard and retreated to my room, fuming!

The next 7 days were excruciatingly long, but Saturday finally arrived and Mother chauffeured me. Within an hour I had my license, proudly drove our ’56 Olds back home, and all was forgiven.

What early driving memories do you have?