Susan C., Knoxville, TN
Before actually driving a stick shift, I was both a little cocky, a little (okay quite a bit) scared and had romantic notions of “stick” drivers. When I was in high school, I used to drive with my sister’s boy friend, where he’d do the clutch and announce the shift, and I’d shift. It was a lot of fun and a good game for a frustrated, lonely 14 year old girl.
I continued this game into my 20’s with my college boy friend. Again, he’d clutch and I’d shift. Of course this game was more fun because there was no limit to the amount of innuendo and teasing a 20 year old girl can have shifting gears and playing with her boyfriend’s stick. And all of this made me quite cocky about how easy it must be to drive a stick.
Several years later, with my 1966 Pontiac Bonneville all but abandoned in front of my Matchett Street house, I decided it was time to buy a new car. A truly new car and that no self-respecting cocky 26 year old would buy an automatic. So off I went with my sister to the car dealership and picked out the most stripped down Nissan Sentra available, and got as close to paying $150 a month as possible. The car had a stick shift, a racing stripe and no radio. I sat in the back seat while my sister drove it and she said it drove nice, so I bought it.
For several weeks I admired the car in our driveway and hitched rides with my sister. Apparently being able to use the clutch is essential to driving a stick. With pity my sister’s boyfriend (not the old one, but the one that would be her husband, and now ex) offered to take me for a ride and teach me how to drive. So we went up and down the driveway as I was too scared to leave it. I got pretty good and going from first gear to reverse and back again. I made many, many trips up and down the driveway, but no amount of arguing or cajoling by my sister or her boyfriend could convince me to brave the Boston streets.
It was not until several weeks later that my good friend Joey said “Snoozin, enough. We’re going for a drive and you’re learning to drive a stick.” With patience, love and humor, Joey taught me to drive my five-speed. Not unlike the patience my father offered me over 10 years’ earlier teaching me to drive, Joey bit his lip and his tongue, yelling “clutch,” “shift” “it’s okay everyone stalls” until I could safely drive myself.