Fewer and fewer cars are sold with manual transmissions. We never had one growing up. I learned to drive behind the wheel of our full sized family van. So it was kind of embarrassing when my girlfriend wheeled around in a Ford Escort stick shift, and I couldn’t even drive it. My fragile psyche couldn’t handle the emasculation. Dad had pity on me and took me out to the parking lot in Lianne’s car to show me the ropes. It was a trying ordeal, a rite of passage, a gauntlet on my journey to manhood.
Dad was a good teacher, in fact, after his career in the Navy he became a middle school biology teacher. Most reports indicate that the kids liked him. He was patient, fun, and the kids learned. For my lesson, he drives us to a parking lot to show me how it is done, explaining things as he goes. I ask how he knows when to shift gears and he replies, “Somewhere around 3,000 rpm, but it depends on the car.” He tells me how to gradually ease up on the clutch while slowly pressing the gas, and many other little tidbits. I feel well-prepared as we hop out and swap seats in the middle of a large and empty school parking lot. I slide into the driver’s seat, adjust it slightly, and put on my seat belt. Haha. Hopefully that wouldn’t be needed in a vacant parking lot, but it was habit. I push the clutch down and start the car.
6 minutes later and the car is sitting in the exact same spot with me behind the wheel as it violently shudders to a halt. The only sound is Dad laughing at me.
“You’ve got to give it more gas,” he explains calmly.
I’m annoyed by this point. My reply is terse, “I am!” I smash the clutch down for the umpteenth time, start the car, put it in gear, and slowly let up on the clutch while I rev the engine until it sounds like it’s going to explode. The car jerks forward a few feet, but in my excitement I let up on the clutch too quickly and once again grind to a stop.
At this point Dad isn’t sure what’s going on. He thinks I’m still letting up on the clutch too quickly. He goes into problem solving mode and switches places with me to give it a try. The car smoothly glides into 1st gear and he circles the parking lot with a smug look on his face.
I give it another go, but my ineptitude continues. Sputter … stall. I think to myself, “My girlfriend drives this thing all over the city. What the heck?” My pride battles with my insecurity and I bravely restart the car yet again. I rev the engine as high as I can, slowly let up on the clutch, and we shakily take off across the parking lot. The car gradually settles and I let out an excited shout. Dad is watching, and chuckling to himself. He knows something. As I press in the clutch and move the gear shift down into 2nd gear I realize what he just figured out himself. The shifter goes down and to the left a little bit on its own. I was already in 3rd gear!
Dad is impressed with my perseverance and with the fact that I actually got the car started from 3rd gear, but he felt sorry for the poor car having to endure that ordeal. What about me? I also went through an ordeal, and he just thinks it is sooo hilarious.
The rest of the lesson is much, much smoother. Having acquired the ability to start the car in 3rd gear, 1st gear is mere child’s play. I can drive stick shift!
Dad was a good teacher. He was patient, fun, and I learned. The lesson took much longer than it should have. We couldn’t figure out what the heck was going on. It was frustrating. It tried my patience. We laughed. I almost cried. We figured it out. It was 20 minutes of time that I spent with my Dad that I’ll never forget.