"Driving with My Dad" by Quit Yolking my Egg

In hindsight, it is probably not the best idea to let a 12 year old drive a car across train tracks.

Don’t get me wrong; I’m not a bad driver. I have just never formally learned how to drive before. And I’ve definitely never learned what to do when encountering train tracks. In my mind, trains weren’t even in use anymore. I’d never seen a train before, and because of that, trains didn’t exist.

My aunt and uncle live on a small property in middle-of-nowhere Annville, Pennsylvania and we visit them every once in awhile. My family drove separately; me and my dad in one car, my mom and my sister in another car. We are driving separately because we are bringing furniture to my aunt and uncle and it didn’t fit in one car, and naturally, I wanted to go with my dad. It’s horrible, but a main reason for that was because I knew there was a better chance that he would let me drive once we got to Annville than my mom.

As he turned the car onto an unkept gravel road that seemed like it was misplaced in the middle of a corn field in Annville, I had the nerve to ask, “Can I drive the rest of the way to their house?” I didn’t know what to expect; on one hand, my dad is a fearless and fun dad who did some crazy things in his childhood (for example, he used to ride dirt bikes without shoes or a helmet and bungee jumped into the grand canyon with no hesitation), but on the other hand, letting a 12 year old drive is just a little bit ridiculous.

My dad thought about it for a moment, then pulled over to the side of the road. “Don’t tell your mom about this,” he grinned and laughed.

Wow. Now that I know this is actually happening, I have no idea what to do. The one thing I know to do is act confident; confidence is key and I have to fake it until I make it. I don’t want to let my dad down by acting like a scaredy cat and I also want to show him how independent I am and make him proud by not asking for help.

We both open our doors and get out of the car. I race around the front of the car as if we’re playing chinese fire drill. I sit in front of the steering wheel and suddenly feel the immense power and responsibility I now hold in my hands. However, I am not too worried because there is nothing I could crash the car into except for corn.

I move my hand to the gear shift just like I’ve watched my parents do a thousand times, but when I shift it to drive the car unexpectedly lurches forward, as does my heart. My dad tells me that it was because I didn’t have my foot on the brake when I shifted gears, but in my mind, I’m thinking that I don’t even know which pedal is the gas or the brake. I have no idea why I’m doing this. I start to grow some doubts and fear. I obviously have no clue what I’m doing, but I keep going. I tentatively tap the pedal which I’ve now deduced as the gas and the car moves forward. The road is straight so I’m barely even thinking about steering and I’m only focused on hitting the sweet spot of the gas pedal to give me a steady 15 miles per hour.

I glance at my dad and start to smile; I’m driving! In that couple of seconds spent looking at my dad, I don’t see the train tracks right in front of the car and when my dad yells out, “Stop!” I accidentally swerve right onto the tracks and end up facing the car towards the nose of a train headed right for us.

Well, that’s not good at all.

The conductor blasts the horn continuously as if we can’t see the train less than 100 yards from us right in front of us and it jars my brain. The sound of the horn and of the rumbling tracks rattling increases my panic to sheer terror.

My dad stays calm so I scream for the both of us and accept our fate. But my dad has different plans and quickly changes the gear shift to reverse and slams his hand onto my leg that is on the pedal and we jerk backwards. He whips the wheel and we end up doing donuts out of the way of the train. This must be what the people in The Fast and The Furious feel like whenever they do anything. The moment we get out of the way of the train’s way, it barrels by less than a foot from the front of our car and the horn can be heard passing and getting farther away.

My dad and I sit still in the car for a few moments, with only our labored breathing to break the silence. My heart seems to be going 100 beats per minute and pulses in my ear so loud I think my dad can hear it. “We’re not telling mom,” is all my dad says.

Now, I am 16 and the thought of driving is no longer daunting. I will be getting my license soon and I would like to say that I have somewhat improved since that day when I was 12. What was once so scary to me, a result of the near accident, is now just something that everybody does and will do at some point. I drove a lot earlier than I should have, but at least I drove with my dad when I had the opportunity and have the memory to show for it.