My dad took the first crack
at teaching me to drive.

Backing out our driveway,
calm and cool, he reminded me
to take it slow because of the steep
dip before the road,
but after an adventurous first lesson—
the yelling and the tears—
he forgot to remind me again as we return home.

Going too fast, I hit the driveway
like a cyclist throttling a motocross jump
bounced up the entrance
arcing over the driveway onto the front lawn
then slamming to a stop
three feet from the living room bay window.
Shaken
we both get out of the car to a
round of applause from the Prohuska boys
who happen to be sitting on their front stoop
across the street.

After that my mom,
and sometime later,
my mom -in-law
took over the lessons.


© by Mary Ray Goehring.
Used here with the author’s permission.