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?
My dad “taught” my older brother to drive… and he got into a collision not long after.
And my dad “taught” my older sister to drive… and she got into a collision not long after.
My dad was actually not a good driver and had a lot of bad habits. And my mother didn’t drive until after my dad passed away (and I gave her instruction in addition to the driver’s ed she was taking).
And I was very concerned about NOT getting into a collision.
So I learned to drive at a driving school… Bell Driver Education.
And as a result, I did NOT have a collision shortly after starting to drive.
Mom taught me in her Datsun 210 when I was 12. Her boyfriend took me out in his Civic as well. He even let me do burnouts! At 14 I was an annoying teen and Mom gave me a bus schedule. That began my freedom era. 50 cents I could go anywhere in the metro area. Dad finally took me to get the permit when I was 17. There was no logging permit hours then so shortly after I went for the driver test. It was a 5 hour wait for testing because this was before the DMV took appointments. What an exciting day that was despite hanging out in the parking lot all afternoon. However, it was back to the bus. Parents didn’t want me driving their cars and insurance was ridiculous. Mom finally helped me get my first car at 18. I didn’t get the insurance though.
Both my parents had a hand in my education. At the time, they didn’t really have notably different driving patterns. I learned on an automatic and then picked up manual later. My dad exclusively taught me how to drive a manual but it was a one day lesson so I think more circumstance than anything as mom also drove manuals.
Overall, I think learning steering, braking, turning and all that before taking on driving a stick shift was a good call. Let me progress a bit easier.
That is what we are doing with my daughter. She is learning the basics on my wife’s Subaru, then she will move up the little Kia manual we bought for her. Doing it that way as a kid would have saved me a lot of stress.
I learned alot in go-karts as well, we had a Golf N Stuff nearby and they used to sell 4 hour unlimited passes back then, me and my best friend would spend that entire 4 hours racing carts then with 10 minutes left on the pass go get golf clubs and never hit the ball in the final hole. Beating the system and getting as much time as we wanted. My dad had me drive off road when we would go camping and such in my early teens having to sit on the phone book to see over the dash in his International Travelall. Then learned stick on my moms Honda Accord, passed my license test in that car and it was given to me at 16.
Does being self taught at Disneyland’s Autopia when a kid count? The real teaching came from my dad in a 1955 Jeep CJ5 and a modified 1936 Ford pickup. Three on the floor of course.
In high school my drivers ed teacher was building a kit plane and as I also was interested in flying we made trips to the Flabob Airport often 30 miles away. It was the most interesting airport in California back then. We started in a Navy surplus 1951 Chevy three on the tree and later moved to an Air Force surplus 1958 Chevy with a Powerglide. Ten years later I was flying my Piper Cherokee.
I had a driver ed instructor we used to call jelly belly Laporte, a clue as to why is he was psyched that Wendy’s has just come to town. He was kind of crazy perhaps a prerequisite for the job. Werewolves of London was popular at the time and he used to howl along to it out the window while I was driving Main Street.
In 1982, my three-week driving course in Dallas, Texas consisted of two-hour class instruction and two-hour of driving five days a week. We had the “Bloody Thursday” when we were treated to the film reels from the 1950s, showing the real people getting extracted from the real wrecked cars in the real settings. No blurred faces. No sanitised versions.
However, my father felt the driver’s school wasn’t adequate. Every time we went to Germany, he taught me more of driving skills. That included driving on the Autobahnen at 100-plus mph (when national 55-mph speed limit was still in force in the United States), driving through the windy roads (Route 500 between Freiburg and Waldshut-Tiengen), and so forth. When it snowed in Dallas, he took me to the empty car parks so I could practise driving on snow and such.
By time I was 18, I became more or less expert driver who could handle pretty much everything that was thrown at me. When I moved to Colorado, driving on snowy roads was easy-peasy while taking pity at the Californian refugees who couldn’t figure out how to drive on snow…
I used to steer the car on the way up the driveway on my mom’s lap, or my dad’s, depending on who was driving. I was driving in my head and in my dreams for as long as I can remember. With matchbox cars, Tonka trucks, 1:12 scare die cast cars, GI Joe tanks, Jeeps, and aircraft, literally anything. All I ever wanted to do was drive.
My brother taught me how to drive a stick shift when I was 14 in the parking lot of my school, in a silver Ford Escort.
Who taught me to drive? I learned by osmosis through every toy and dream I ever had – driver’s ed was a breeze I didn’t even need it. Learned nothing. I love driving and I always will.
I loved seeing the excitement on my kids’ faces while “driving” into the driveway.
Mostly, it was my Dad, but my Mom was the one who really showed me how to drive a manual correctly.
I started early when I was really young because we lived in the middle of nowhere and a 1992 Ford Tempo GL is only going to go so fast. After that, I learned on the weird assortment of cars we had when I was 15/16: his 1998 Chevy Astro LS, my Mom’s 1992 Lincoln Town Car Cartier Edition, and what would be my 1994 Mitsubishi Eclipse (with no A/C, no power steering, no radio, and a manual, it was the little 1.8 4-cyl).
My Dad taught me car control on dirt roads. My Mom taught a lot about driving a manual smooth as glass (My Dad could drive fast in the Eclipse, but my Mom could make it cruise). It was a great team effort.
I learned through a group effort which was probably beneficial to all that taught me.
My mom, dad and step mom all had a hand in teaching me. My mom gave me my first lesson when I was 13. In the parking lot of my middle school where I was pretty awful. It was a 1978 Mustang II that had seen better days. 4 speed stick and steering you could barely feel.
My dad had a 1982 or 83 Ford Escort with a manual that was my favorite of the three to drive at the time. My step mom’s ride was an ‘84 Ford Ranger. That thing was a beast. No power steering. No power assisted brakes. Manual transmission with a clutch so heavy I practically had to stand up and use my whole skinny body weight to push that thing. My dad delighted in taking me to roads where that truck was too much to handle.
All three manuals and I wanted an automatic so bad while learning but it built a love of driving I now enjoy so I guess it was worth it.
I don’t really remember how I first learned, I was too young. But it was probably my dad, who has been a car enthusiast and speed freak since he was a kid.
When I was a toddler, my dad painted my cousin’s electric Pink Barbie Corvette a Torch Red-ish color. I suppose that’s where I first learned the relationship between the “go” pedal and steering.
When I was 5 my parents upgraded me to a larger, faster Jeep-ish electric car.
For my 8th birthday my dad took me to a go-kart swap meet and bought a go-kart chassis and engine, plus a bunch of other equipment. I raced competitively after that for around 8 years.
I first learned the concept of a manual transmission when I got a 3-speed 90cc ATV when I was 12 or 13.
Before I started driver’s training (earliest you can start in MI is 14, you have to be 14 and 9 months old when you finish), my dad took me out on the road in his beater DD ’91 Geo Prism GSI. There wasn’t much risk to this since it was 55 mph country roads and a bit of a stretch of highway. I figure he had determined from my almost 10 years of knowing how to pilot some kind of vehicle, I was ready.
Took the test, got the permit, nothing happened for a few weeks. We were at my grandmothers house, and I was asleep on the couch in the basement since I didnt want to sleep in the room with all of the dolls (like all of them). At 645am, Dad shakes me awake and says “get dressed”. We drive over to his old high school, where his dad taught him how to drive, he gets out of his ’98 ML320 (a car with its own storied history in our family, ask away), and says “OK lets learn”.
Its a good memory.
My dad taught me but they put me through a driving school the summer before I turned 16 to get a break on insurance. A couple of years later, I taught myself to drive stick and never looked back.
My mom was going to let me drive the car down our dead end street when I was 15. She freaked out and I didn’t make it out of our driveway.
My best friend’s mom picked me up one day over the summer when I was 16 and had me drive her around for a couple hours. Funniest bit being on a road with a 35mph speed limit and her talking about how she never let anyone speed on that road because of cops. I looked down and was doing 40.
Later that summer because I had done no other driving, my dad had me take him to put gas in the car. He basically told me to parallel park at the pump, without any type of instruction, so I ended up scraping the fender along the pump. Luckily no damage to the pump, only a big scratch/dent on the fender.
The above led my parents to signing me up for a driving school. Two 8 hour sessions ruined two of my Saturdays, and then they paid for a couple of driving sessions with an instructor.
All the instructor did was have me drive around the driving test course, so I’d know what to do during my test.
I had probably less than 8 total hours of driving experience when I took my test. Passed on the first try.
The experience of the DMV/BMV not really caring is one that I’ve heard a lot from other Americans. It’s way too easy for us to get a license.
It was mostly my dad. My parents were separated when I came of age. My mom was horrified of riding with me so I maybe logged an hour behind the wheel of her Lincoln Town Car. My dad on the other hand was eager to get me on the road. I had actually gotten my first taste of driving illegally with him a couple of years prior. We found ourselves hanging out in the wee hours of the morning and he asked if I wanted to drive home. Being as late as it was there was virtually no traffic, so I got to drive his 1990’s Silverado along the dark streets of my small Ohio town and I was terrified. A couple years later I got my temps and spent many more hours driving the same truck. He wasn’t the greatest teacher, considering he’s a horrible driver himself, but he was certainly encouraging.
One thing I’ll never forget was driving some country back roads. I was nervous, never having driven them before, and he kept watching the speedometer. “The speed limit’s 45. You’re only doing 30. You need to pick it up.”
When I was little (Around 6 I think) my dad used to sit me on his lap to change gears. As I got older I was now steering the wheel, he was controlling the gas and brake pedals.
I think everything started when my mom was pregnant of my sister she said I used her belly to play with my hot wheels and launch them to the air lol. By the age of 12-13, my dad took my older brother to an empty parking spot to teach him how to drive, he was 15-16. My brother did horrible, I told my dad I wanted to try. He was amazed how good I was doing that let me drive home. He started to borrow me his car at that age to go to the store or I will drive and he will be the passenger. He had an amazing (to me) 1991 GMC Sonoma lowered with old Camaro wheels, a high definition sound system and even remote start, the truck was rad.
My siblings did take lessons on a VW Beetle (that was the car that schools used to drive to teach kids how to drive, this is in Mexico). I didn’t, got my driver license when I was 16 and did my first road trip to visit grandma 3 hours away from home in my mom Nissan Altima, that car was fancy to me.
20 years of driving experience and not a single accident so far (knock on wood). I had scary situations but luckily I am pretty aware of what is happening around me, never trust the other drivers.
My dad taught me in his 1960 Austin-Healey 3000. I was a couple of weeks away from high-school Driver’s Ed, and we were heading out to the races at Willow Springs when he let me take over. So I got city streets, Angeles Crest Highway (built up my shifting and braking skills) and freeway driving all in one shove into the deep end. It was wonderful.
Went to driver’s ed and drove a gigantic ’65 Chevy. The instructor — who was also the shop teacher — signed off on me after one drive. He was a bit critical of my powering out of turns and plopping the Powerglide into “Low” for the slow corners, but figured I’d grow out of those bad habits. Never did.
My driving test at the DMV didn’t work out too well. The inspector was probably close to seven feet tall and grumbled about the noise and the wind (of course the Healey’s top was down and the windshield hardly protected him) that blew his papers all over the place. He passed me, but grudgingly.
My dad showed me shifting when I was 11 or 12 (me sitting in the passengers seat). Later, when I was 13, our family came back from a vacation in UK with our RV and on a camping ground in Belgium I watched a boy a little bit older than me driving with his dad’s Camaro. He could. And I could not. Hmm… After arriving back in Germany I said to my 16 year old sis “Let’s learn driving” We got to our dad’s company and took a Renault R4 and started from the beginning: With starting. Poor little car, especially the clutch suffered a lot, but in the afternoon we were quite good (we only could use gear 1 and 2 since the property was not very big).
2 years later sis (18 and legal to drive) and me (15, illegal to drive) bought a car, a Citroen 2CV… That’s more than 40 years ago now.
Dad spent some 6 months taking me out just about every Saturday in our manual 74 Super Beetle. He’s kind & patient, and I was eager & observant, so it was far from an ordeal. Taught me to look far ahead, and was frank about our chances against the 2-ton barges of the day, so defensive driving was baked in. The steep hill with a stoplight became a non-issue through constant repetition. I still go that way almost daily and don’t think I’ve stalled there this century
Taught myself at age 15 coz no-one was going to teach me after my older brother pulled down a (rotten) fence when he was being taught at 14. I’d been watching my folks drive for years before, though, so had already figured out things by time I finally got behind the wheel. At the time, we had a vacation home that was being renovated, so every second or third weekend, the folks would catch a ferry to the island it was on, leaving me behind to “study”.
First step was just driving around a car park, getting used to clutch bite, changing to second, back to first and learning how to reverse. After a few months, finally started driving around side streets until got confident and competent enough to go on main roads.
Finally got caught at 17 when the folks missed the boat and got home to find me and the car missing. I turned into the drive about 10 minutes later while the neighbor was telling them about me driving, thinking that my life was over. My folks were A) shocked AF, B) too surprised to be really angry and C) unsure how to punish me. To their credit, they made me take a lesson with a driving instructor, who, after pointing out a couple of things said I was ready to get my license, which I passed first time around (it was easier back in the day).
Vehicle insurance isn’t mandatory in NZ, although with modern cars being full of expensive tech, it’s wise to have the most basic coverage in case that $1000 fender-bender ends up totaling the other car. Older and wiser me realizes just how lucky I was not to have an accident, even one not my fault, as an unlicensed driver.
A trained, certified driving instructor during 53 training sessions, as it shold be.
Self taught.
Honda 305 Scrambler. Age 9. Taught by the kid my folks hired to watch their 5 kids while they were gone on vacation.
Mom’s new 66 VW Bus. Age 10.
My parents started teaching me when I was 10. I also learned to drive a tractor-an IH Farmall Model H-on my grandparent’s farm when I was 14. I took my driver’s test in 1980 when I was 16.
The test was a nightmare. My instructor was an Alabama State Trooper who had just retired from patrol duty to run new driver license examinations-and he was still driving the AMC Javelin patrol car used to hunt down speeders during his active patrol days. And boy was he mean as a rattlesnake! The day I took my test, the trooper intentionally embarrassed the boy before me upon leaving the exam office by stopping at the intersection to the street, getting out of the car and walking back to the office, telling his father to “teach that boy how to drive,” while that poor kid hung his head and cried.
“NEXT!” It was my turn.
Yeah, I was scared as hell. This man was notorious for snagging speeders in that Javelin. He always caught his prey, and berated them badly. He even forced one driver to surrender his license on the spot in 1973 and park his car in the yard. The car just rusted away. He had nailed my father and other family members, and even my brother. And now he was my examiner.
I just pulled it together and did everything he told me to do. I did it with ease. Then came the part that everyone who went before me said was their weakness: parallel parking on a hillside. He got out, looked at my parking, got back in and said “Right between the lines! Excellent!”
We were both happy! I drove all the way back to the station with a big smile on my face, just knowing I had aced the test. But when we got back, I accidentally mashed the gas pedal and chirped my tires. I looked out of the corner of my eye and notice the smile on the trooper’s face had vanished and the frown came back, and he was scribbling on his pad. For a moment I thought he was going to get out the car while we were still moving.
When we finally parked, he handed me my final result. An 84! I had actually aced the test, but my unintended tire spin erased that chance. “Good luck, son!” he mumbled, winked his eye and walked off. “NEXT!”
While I was headed in to get my license, he approached a young girl. She looked at him in fear and broke down in tears. “Take this baby back home and bring her back when she grows up!” he said to her mother. And he walked away, yelling “NEXT!” at the next kid while the girl’s mother yelled and him, all red-faced, angry and cursing.
What town was this? Asking for a friend. I remember the Trooper Javelins very well. Too well as a matter of fact.
Livingston, in Sumter County. This was part of the Demopolis Trooper Post.
Thanks.
Gulf Coast Alabama here.
You’re welcome! Always happy to represent here.
I did. Then a few years later I taught myself how to drive stick.
My dad was always a rock crawler guy growing up (and by the number of jeeps and samurai littering his driveway, has made his way back in) so I first learned to drive in a 3-seater buggy with an old Ford Y Block and 4(5?) speed with 2 doublers in it when I was about 5. I learned to drive it on trails in Moab and around where we lived and became a pretty decent kid at driving that. later on, I learned to drive the tow rig and back up a trailer for the buggies when I was about 8, and I’m still pretty decent with a trailer. my first experience on a motorcycle was as a 2-3 year-old riding on the back of my dad’s cbr fireblade, but I first learned to ride on my own on a little Yamaha 50cc dirt bike on those same trails and trips as we took the rock crawlers on.