Learning to drive is a rite of passage for American teenagers. I know for me there was nothing greater than turning 15, getting a permit, and hitting the road. Turning 16 was even better because it meant that I could drive somewhere without my parents in the car. There are many ways to learn the art of driving. Some people teach themselves while others go to schools or have someone else teach them. Each method is a journey on its own. Who taught you how to drive?
I was prepared to drive years before I got my permit. If you’re a resident of the Midwest, you’re probably aware that Wisconsin Dells calls itself the “Waterpark Capital of the World.” Wisconsinians love water almost as much as they love cheese, and Wisconsin Dells is a go-to destination for water-based adventure. In the 1990s, Wisconsin Dells was also a place for go-karts. There were large theme parks in Wisconsin Dells that were just clusters of several multi-level go-kart tracks for everyone from tiny kids to adults. Some of these parks remain today.
It was at these parks that I first started falling in love with driving. The Wisconsin Dells go-kart tracks of the 1990s and the early 2000s were intense. The tracks had steep drops, rickety wooden surfaces, and the karts were way faster than they should have been. Some of the go-kart parks in Wisconsin Dells had drops so steep that your little go-kart would catch air as you launched off of them. I think that’s what the kids call safety third.
I loved these go-karts so much that in 2000, my parents bought me a go-kart of my own. My little Manco Critter was one-wheel-drive and made all of 5 HP, but it was my own transportation and you bet I buried the throttle wherever I drove it. My Critter is the vehicle that introduced me to off-roading, drifting, off-road racing, and the concept of a time trial. I drove that go-kart so hard that I wore through drive tires from burnouts, bent a steering arm from a crash, and found myself driving so fast I beat older neighborhood kids who were straddling more powerful quads and dirt bikes.
That kart and I seemed unstoppable for a good five years. Then, one day in 2005, I was driving my kart through an abandoned farm when something metal got kicked up by the drive tire and sent straight into the kart’s block.
I took driver’s ed in high school when I was 15. The instructor was a brilliant guy who went above and beyond the bare minimum. He didn’t have to teach us how to drive defensively, but he did so, anyway, because he didn’t want to see any of his students end up on the news.
When I got my permit at 15, I took what I learned over all of those years and applied it to real cars. My mom had me drive her 60 miles in a 2003 GMC Envoy XL the day I got my permit. It was exhilarating. Weirdly, my mom was unintentionally a bad teacher. She was a self-taught driver with bad habits like always driving in the left lane, never using turn signals, and always driving well under the flow of traffic and well under the speed limit.
Illinois requires teenagers to rack up 50 hours of documented driving with a parent or guardian over 9 months before getting their license. When I rolled up to the DMV 9 months after getting my permit, I plopped down papers documenting over 470 hours of driving, over 160 hours of it were at night. Yep, I racked up an honest 20 days of driving. Why? My mom used me as her chauffeur, so I drove her somewhere literally every day.
I bet you can guess the shock on my face when the lady at the DMV didn’t even look at my stack of papers before tossing them into the trash. I could have lied about my experience and she wouldn’t have noticed. Some of my friends did lie about their hours and got their licenses, anyway.
I suppose this is a long way of saying that my driving skills are the result of myself and some really good instruction. How about you? Who taught you how to drive?
When I was 10 my best friend moved from southern California up to Crestron (Paso Robles area). His parents bought 20 acres of land in a gated neighborhood of other 20 acre ranches and built a house. The entire community was private roads. I would go up and visit him every year or so, and his parents taught us to drive starting when we were 10. Not sitting on their laps, but in the driver’s seat by ourselves with them in the passenger seat. His dad taught us in his ’85 Diesel Ford F250 work truck, and his mom in her ’79 Benz 300SD Turbo Diesel.
Then on-the-road learning and driving experience with my parents and driving instructor when I was 15 – 16.
Then I lived in Ireland from 2017 – 2021 and had to get my Irish driving license. Since the US has no reciprocal agreement with any EU countries regarding driver’s license exchanges, I had to start all over again like I was 15 (I was late 30s at this time) and study for the written exam, take behind-the-wheel driver’s ed, and an on-road test. I will say that I learned a ton from that experience, and am a better driver for it. Interesting fact about Ireland. If you take the on-road test in an automatic car, you cannot legally drive a manual one. If you take the test in a manual car, you legally can drive both. You can legally drive a tractor with either.
First vehicle I drove was a Kubota tractor at age 9. I was small, so it took both feet to get the clutch down. Learned to ride a little Honda dirt bike at 12 – my dad taught me. First real driving instructor introduced himself as “Perky Williams” and proceeded to complain about the newfangled music the neighbors were playing. (A Temptations song that was already a quarter century old.) But he taught me how to stay alive in Los Angeles traffic in a Chevette automatic, so there’s that. My dad taught me a lot about defensive driving. These days, I am about to teach kid #4.
Growing up semi-rural, with acres of yard front and back. My dad would hold me in his lap on our IH cub tractor while mowing, and as soon as I could reach the wood blocks he attached to the clutch and brake (throttle was sawtooth), I was on my own. Only hit a tree once. A little older, it’s the same with our classic old truck, foot blocks and one tree smack. Older still, it was out on the road in his company car, where my every move was closely scrutinized. No nothing as I had this down by now.
I can’t express the level of knowledge this man gave me that contributed to my ability to drive anything, safely, anytime. Thanks dad.
Am I the only one around here that remembers when drivers ed was a mandatory high school course? I aced that class, I got my license at 14 before the class came my way as required. I helped many of my class mates master the stick shift and clutch.
Can’t remember if it was required, but drivers ed was a piece of cake. I had to learn what they expected, but had my license at 14 as well. Drove better than some of the adults around me (getting in the car with my mother or any of her sisters was taking a gamble). We had a driving range and slinging the instructor around in a hydroplane section was so much fun!
My favorite part of drivers ed was the little car simulators you sat in while in front of you was a film playing, daring you to hit the drum brakes when that 67 Fury ran the red light. The car crash gore films were awesome as well. These were the days before green screens and the gory guts spread across the road were real. I taught my mom and sister and nephew to drive a stick shift. I wish I had an open road to justify having a stick shift again. Stick shifts suck in the parking lot traffic I deal with now. Oh did I mention the “this is what happens when you smoke pot and drive” film from the 70’s?
My time was before simulators, but my wife has told me about her learning to drive in CA, and all the highway slaughter films was definitely part of the course. She especially mentions James Dean’s car, which they brought to her school.
My mother taught me in her 1971 Mustang Grande 302 (Poop brown, with brown vinyl roof). She never had any formal training herself – she grew up in a tiny Wisconsin town where the local cop just gave her a license – No written or driving test !
Why were all Mustang Grande’s painted poop brown? Was it required by some weird law that Ford had at the time?
My Grandpa. My gay ass was driving a combine harvesting the fields at 14. I was the prissy grandkid. I got to drive the new combine with air conditioning, power steering, and, and, an 8 track player! Woo hooo!! I was scooping up wheat, rattle snakes, and rabbits in high style listening to Kraftwerks (a way ahead of their times German techno group) and Queen. Good times. The dirt roads going to Grandpa’s farm were a hoot to drive and drift on. Pulling the parking brake while going 40 mph on a lonely gravel road was fun in my Ford Pinto.
December 26th 1994, my 15- year old self was being driven by my grandfather in the poconos where they lived. He suddenly pulled over and got out, and came around to my side and told me to slide over. I made no argument lol. Made me drive home (no learners permit or anything) in their 1989 Chevy Caprice. Nothing like being thrown in the deep end of the pool to fend for yourself. 🙂 I think I did pretty well driving the 18-ft long V8 sedan since I had never been behind the wheel before. He apparently thought so too since he took me to an empty parking lot the next day to practice some more.
When I finally did get a permit at 16 I spent the summer basically being his driver in that Caprice 2-3 days a week for the little business he owned. And every now and then, I’d be allowed to drive the old 350-powered GMC cargo van he had to haul stuff- that was a LOT of fun flying down the back roads’
28 years later, I still own and occasionally drive that Caprice which they gifted me when I got my license. My grandparents are both gone now, but that floaty V8 Caprice is still going strong and never fails to put a smile on my face 🙂
My Mom, first car was a Super Beetle, and Dad can’t drive a manual transmission, so she handled it (he apparently only tried once, and burned the clutch out of an M151A1, and that was it forever for him)
I went to a Catholic high school, and Brother Malcolm taught me in a 1970 Fury II. If you looked at the brakes they’d send you through the windshield. My dad taught me stick shift in our 1968 Ford Cortina.
At my Catholic HS we took drivers Ed in that sublime epitome of spirited motoring, the 1991 Chevrolet Lumina sedan *chef’s kiss* 🙂
Taught myself. Back in the day (70’s), in Sask, you could go to any small town and write your learner permit exam (you’d have to be near dead to fail). This allows you to drive pretty much anywhere except a federal highway or at night, but being a teen involves risk … after a couple of months, booked general license in car exam, drove to exam, took it passed. Been driving 48 yrs now, perfect record, never an accident or ticket.
I had some experience driving farm trucks, tractors and combines on my uncles grain farm from about the age of 12. You could get a learners permit at 15 in Sask and a full drivers at 16.
1975 Southeastern Mass. 1969 Ford Ranch Wagon in Indian Fire Red. 302 2V, since I’m with friends. Black vinyl, AM radio, automatic, regular brakes, power steering.
It had rolled out of our garage and over an embankment, bending the frame at a downward angle behind the rear wheel. It drove straight, but looked like hell. We called it The Bentley. It got bitten twice by the issue with Ford transmissions not actually being in Park when the indicator said so. The other one involved the Chatahoochee River and a fishing boat.
My dad taught me to drive in that 18 foot thing on the tiny backroads of Mass. We’d go for a drive and he’d basically sit in the right seat and flinch like crazy every time I went by a tree. I never hit a tree, so he eventually calmed down a bit.
One time he was telling me about how he was going to test my emergency braking skills by holding his hand up and yelling STOP. He’d do stuff like that. “What would you do if a dog ran out in front of you?” Pose scenarios.
My parents were reluctant to let me get a license because they didn’t want me to have to have a car to support. They were afraid I’d ditch education and work to support my car. So I had my permit for a year and by the time I took my test, I was pretty proficient.
So we’re cruising along one time and he asks me to pull into a big empty lot so we can cut some flowers for my mom. Daisies. Her favorite. I put my turn signal on and get ready to turn left. As I check the side mirror, someone is passing me over the double yellow right as I start to turn.
I nail the brakes and the Ford stands up on its nose and slews around a little as the car goes around us. I get it gathered up and make our left easily, nice and smooth.
My dad’s sitting over there white as a ghost gripping the door handle. I find a patch of daisies, pull up and we get out.
He looks at me pretty directly and I notice he’s at least got a bit of color back.
He says, “I guess I won’t need to be yelling STOP, will I?”
Nope. Got that covered. Wait until we go driving in the snow, dad. Mom showed me some stuff.
When I was around 12 we moved about a ten minute drive away. Since my mother had failed every driving test she took Dad decided that after we got the last stuff loaded up in his truck I would follow him in his 84 Z-28. He said if I’d been paying attention at all whenwe went places I should be fine since it was an automatic and, after figuring out how responsive the pedals and wheel were, he was correct. A few years later we got a car with a stick and thankfully a verbal description of how a clutch and gearshift works was all I needed.
Private driving school (the only way here in Quebec).
Covered all the important things:
going through a car washdrive through mealstopping for some hot dogs and a poutine at a cantine during the country driving partadmiring the lovely ladies on downtown Montreal streets during the summerand for those old enough: 2 way traffic on the Victoria Bridge.
All the while in a gold Nissan 240sx or bright red Ford Ranger.
Taught myself by watching mom and dad drive from my 3rd row reverse facing seat in the station wagon. Aced the written part and only failed the 3 point turn in our Cadilac Sedan DeVille. My parents believed in setting road blocks and when you successfully past them you deserved it. Deserved it meant deserve to buy the car they chose but you paid for. Except for a 1968 Javelin that me and my brother’s drove illegally my 1st car was a 1974 Plymouth Valiant 4 door. Yeah the chick’s just dug me.
My mom taught me in her 97 Corolla CE, hardly an inspiring start. I did a few laps of the school parking lot then had to drive home. I got yelled at for left foot braking. I didn’t know it was a thing, I also didn’t know your right foot generally does gas and brake duties. I have two feet, there were two pedals IT MADE SENSE. I also got yelled at for doing a farmer’s turn, which again, I DIDN’T KNOW NOT TO DO. Basically, there was a lot of yelling and it was a bit traumatic. The second time I drove, I curbed a wheel, which was again followed by significant yelling from my mom. I got yelled at a lot in general. It all went quite a bit better when I was with the school district driving instructor who wasn’t yelling at me.
I simply must ask what a “farmer’s turn”?
Apparently it’s my mom’s term for dipping the opposite direction before turning. I.e. floating over a bit left before turning right. Obviously not good driving behavior, but it was only my first time!
Ahh thank you, seems perfectly safe in an empty residential area, and a farm.
Swinging wide like you’re towing something.
You mean like almost every large SUV driver seems to do now? I chalk it up to most of them unconsciously realizing how gigantic their rides are compared to what they learned to drive on back when…
A wide turn, like a semi trailer or tractor going around a corner.
I mostly taught myself from about age 12, first with the 13hp lawn tractor that was required for my chore of mowing a 3 acre lawn. Later, my parents let me use their ‘78 FJ40 Land Cruiser to pull stumps, drag brush, and do muddy donuts in the fields around our farm. Growing up in a rural area confers huge mechanical knowledge, most of the kids around were driving years before they got their actual licenses.
When I was 15, my dad took me to Germany, rented a 1.1 Ford Fiesta, tossed me the keys, and snoozed off in the passenger seat. My job was to get us, in one piece, from Frankfurt to where ever we were going, at night and jet lagged. I recall keeping the accelerator pegged on the autobahn, doing about 140km/h in 4th, and watching those big Benzes pass me like I was parked.
That was basically my exam. After that, driver’s ed was a piece of cake.
I took professional driver’s lessons to get my log book completed and get my licence, but my first driving lessons were provided by Dad. Mum tried to teach me as well but every time she got in the car with us kids she would brace herself with one hand on the dashboard and the other gripping the grab handle so tight her knuckles went white. She still did that for years after I had a full, unrestricted licence.
The first cars I learned in were Dad’s VN Commodore wagon and later manual lessons in Mum’s Holden Barina (a rebadged Opel Corsa, a tiny little car). As we got our learners’ permits, Dad would take us out in the Commodore, first me then later my little sisters, out onto a gravel road to get comfortable handling a rear wheel drive car on slippery roads. All three of us broke off a muffler in that Commodore while fishtailing along a corrugated road. You don’t get that kind of experience through a professional instructor!
My mom and dad did most of the teaching. Their biggest lessons were to look down the roads, and to just take it easy in adverse weather conditions.
I also learned a lot from my drivers’ ed (and chemistry, and algrebra) teacher, Mr. Grindrod, who was a really cool guy (rode a Gold Wing, was a drummer, jammed with Kim Mitchell once!).
My family had a friend with a big farm and some interesting beat up vehicles. He would let me drive around in them whenever I wanted. When my mom noticed I wasn’t quite up to her standards with the third pedal, she spent the time drilling that into me.
My dad came to driving very late in life, so when it came time for me to prepare for public roads, he stepped up because “he still remembered all his lessons, unlike all those experienced drivers”.
I went from driver’s license to motorcycle license in pretty quick order, so both of them suddenly wanted to learn from me.
As a very little boy, I closely observed my Father driving while standing on the hump of our car leaning over the middle of the bench seat – making mental notes – while listening to my Mother telling Dad to slow down.
When I was 16 I took the driver training my High School offered –
First there was the driving simulator where we watched a film while pretending to drive our little GM “cars” that fed data on our reactions back to the “computer” that scored how we reacted to the different scenes in “Blood Flows Red On The Highway”
Damn, I had never seen more people running out in front of cars and doors flung open into traffic … until I drove thru the Tenderloin in SF.
Then there was the Saturday of behind the wheel training – 4 of us loaded into a brown Chevy Nova with a well-insured teacher putzing around town, doing 4 point turns and getting on/off Highway 99. Boy, was that a thrill.
Shortly afterwards, Dad tried to teach me how to drive a manual transmission in his little Ford Courier pickup. That was a uniquely unsuccessful endeavor.
Mother refused to let me learn to drive in her big Mercury. She was afraid I’d wreck it. She later turned out to be correct.
About a year or so later, I bought an ancient Volvo 144S with a 4 speed – the one with the very long gooseneck shift lever that sprouted up from beneath the dashboard. I took a friend along who could drive a manual to test drive it for me and help me bring it home. I then willed myself to drive it, with much open choke/smoke and clutch slippage at first – and eventually became more confident behind the wheel, based on the knowledge I had gleaned about heel and toe-ing, steering toward apexes, and braking on the straight/accelerating out of the curve based on years of reading Car and Driver.
So I learned how to drive from David E. Davis Jr.
I believe I also am a graduate of the David E. Davis Jr. School of High Performance Driving, as well.
My Old Man taught me how to drive in local cemeteries. “See all these people,” he said to me, waiving his arm dramatically at all the gravestones. “You can’t hurt them! They’re already dead! This is the perfect place to teach you how to drive!”
Our local cemetery sometimes has small informal classic car gatherings. I’m guessing they wouldn’t like that logic.
Cars & Coffins?
I was going to say “this was a Morgan club or similar, right, as there’s probably a member overlap?”
Having also grown up within a couple of hours of Wisconsin Dells, I too spent a fair bit of time behind the wheel of go-karts. My dad also taught me the fundamentals of how to drive a manual transmission when I was like 9 years old. How the clutch works, how the gear lever works, when to shift, etc. By the time I had my Illinois learners permit, I was pretty much fully up to speed. Most of the driving I did while learning was with my mom, but it was my dad who taught me how to be good at it.
I mostly learned from my parents, even though I took Drivers Ed.
Once I had a bit of experience, but before I had my license, we were road tripping up I-95 to visit relatives and they had me drive. There is nothing like real world experience with your entire family in the minivan and NY/MA drivers.
My Drivers Ed instructor was afraid to pull into my driveway. Having grown up with it, it was familiar, but the Drivers Ed instructor didn’t like backing up a hill out onto a busy road with poor sight lines
My mother and father. Different driving styles but good at teaching. Both know how to drive a manual as well.
Need for Speed on the 3DO is what taught me how to drive. I guess my folks had a hand in me learning to drive a real car…