Driving You To A Heart Attack

(I am 19 and my dad finally agrees to show me how to drive. Even though I’m older than most, I am a very anxious person. We go to an empty parking lot and I nervously drive around, fearing the car will blow up or something awful. Finally, Dad turns to me.)

Dad: “You feel ready to go on the road yet?”

Me: “NO WAY.”

(He makes me do it anyway, and I’m about to have a heart attack. I’m going at maybe five mph and cars are zooming past us.)

Dad: “Turn here. See the lines? Follow them.”

Me: “What lines?! Where?!” *hyperventilating*

Dad: “There. See?”

(The light turns green and I turn slowly… right into oncoming traffic! I’m completely panicking; luckily, Dad grabs the wheel and helps me turn into the right lane.)

Dad: “Didn’t you watch as I did it when you were a kid?!”

Me: “NO.” *still hyperventilating*

Dad: “You’re supposed to!”

(He made me pull over and I did so, gladly. We drove home in silence, him mad at me for not watching him, me mad at him for making me do something when I was not ready. He told my mom that she was going to teach me now, not him. Mom didn’t make me go into the road until I felt ready, and now, ten years later, I have no tickets.)