I learned how to drive behind the wheel of my mom’s Plymouth Voyager. A land yacht, truly; and its wood trim aesthetic hasn’t aged the best. It was burgundy. Not the hottest ride, but a sensible one. It was handed down from my grandparents, and to its credit, lasted many years under our care. And so, in this beast, I logged my very first miles behind the wheel.
One bright summer afternoon, my mom and I buckled up and we drove around the neighborhood. A few laps of the narrow roads of my cul-de-sac in an enormous minivan. I was nervous, but it all went fine. We had the windows down. By the end of it, I was feeling quite comfortable, and so my mom let me take a shot at parking it in the garage. Our driveway was offset to the left of the garage, meaning I’d have to pull this beastly vehicle a full ninety degrees without much room to maneuver. My mom was a master at this having done it for many years. For me, I’d been driving for twenty minutes at most, and not even on any roads proper. I hadn’t even put the damn thing in reverse yet.
So, in my attempt, I scraped the passenger-side mirror. “Back up,” mom said; with an unwavering calm, despite being visibly nervous. “Gently. Let’s try it again.”
It took some time to line up with the garage properly. And then, I was in. I was doing it. Pulling it forward inch by inch, with nervous caution. I didn’t want to plow through the basement wall, you see. “Keep going,” mom said. I had no idea exactly how far forward I’d need to bring it, and I was fairly frazzled. “A little more. A little more.” In the end, I had done it. I exhaled, and my first time behind the wheel was over with little fanfare or disaster. Just the way I had hoped it would go, sans mirror scrape.
Mom and I get out and she goes to feed the cat. I grab a drink from the fridge. At this point, we’re still in the garage — I’m facing the van, talking to my mom. It’s important to note that we’re on the passenger side of the car, with the passenger door still open. The garage door is open as well, and there’s a good six feet or more between us and the van. She’s holding the tin of cat food. As she’s talking, I notice behind her the van slowly beginning to creep backwards.
I forgot to put the fucking thing in park. It’s sliding back out of the garage.
I’m a bit overcome with panic and I stammer, pointing behind her. “Mom, uh, the van…” She turns around, watching it pick up speed, silently gliding backwards. She immediately throws the can of food down and runs to the car, diving through the open passenger side to turn the key that’s still in the ignition. At this point the van is nearly halfway out, and I’m fearing the worst; that the passenger door will slam against the wall of the garage. Disaster seems imminent.
But that doesn’t happen. My mom, somehow, shifts the van into drive and pulls it forward, narrowly avoiding catastrophe. An absolutely god damn heroic effort, a flawless outcome to something that could’ve been an awful ending to my first day behind the wheel. I was astounded; my mom, a woman well into her middle age (love you mom) pulled this daring move with great success, and frankly I am still impressed.
Everyone’s upbringing is different. Vastly different. There are no subtle differences in families. Everyone has a different mother; a different father; a different living situation. It shapes who you are for the rest of your life. Every family experiences challenges and every family handles them differently. Every parent has a moment, perhaps several moments, where they are presented with a sudden crisis, and how they react is molded into their child forever.
So, here is my mom. She sees a crisis in action: the family vehicle is in danger. The vehicle that I’ve just driven, for my first time ever, and I forgot to put in park. Without a doubt, I think some mothers would panic. Some mothers would scold their child. Some would yell, or be frazzled; distressed; angry. My mom, though? She turns into a fucking hero. And after this insane act of heroism, what does she do next? How does she react? Does she punish me? Is she upset, or is she angry?
As my mom drives the van back into the garage, she is laughing. A full, hearty laugh. She is happy.
Honestly, I believe that moment has been imprinted on me forever. In the face of crisis? Act on it. Be bold. Take charge. Even if it’s a daring, or a scary thing to do. And afterward, should you be angry? Should you be upset? No. Not at all. Instead, celebrate. Laugh it off.
The van rolling backwards to impending doom could’ve been a terrible memory for me. Instead, I reflect on this warmly. I laugh. It is pretty damn funny. And I think this is part of what has made me so ready and able to tackle challenge and be positive about it. I have learned to laugh off so many things, and I think it truly is what makes my stream worthy of a watch. I’m able to have so much fun when others may simply get frustrated, or angry. I believe I have the ability to turn lots of things to a positive, and that is for sure my mother’s influence. So, thank you, mom, for inspiring me in this way. It’s an invaluable thing to imprint on someone, and it’s that same energy I try to convey every time I turn on the stream.
