You know what’s crazy? I’ll tell you what’s crazy™
Teaching your kid to drive a stick shift.
“Put in the clutch. Put in the clutch!!”
Glug. Chortle. Stall. Fizzle.
“I stalled it,” my 18 year old son says.
“Yep, you stalled it.”
I look around the empty parking lot. We are the only car in this business park on a sunny Sunday morning. The windows are open and a slight breeze is blowing through the cockpit of the car.
I am teaching my son to drive a 5 speed stick shift, and he is eager but nervous.
I remember teaching myself to drive a stick 30 plus years ago. It was a four speed Capri. I practiced putting the car in gear and letting out the clutch and feeling the tiny go cart engine engage. I would roll 20 feet then I would put in the clutch and coast to the wall. Then I would put it in reverse and do it all over again.
I couldn’t wait till I got my license so I could actually get on the street and put the car in 2nd gear.
But my boy? He feels he is not ready. We have been here 30 minutes driving in circles, practicing stop to go to stop. We’ve gotten the Mustang up to 25mph in 2nd gear several times. The engine is begging for 3rd like a wino needing that next sip of Night Train.
This is not the boy’s first lesson, but it might as well be. His experience level consists of a parking lot, and shifting the car from 1st to 2nd gear.
Clutch in. Clutch out. Vrooom. Clutch in. Shift. Clutch out. Gas.
Whoopee!
Driving in a parking lot in 2nd gear in a high performance Mustang is like sky diving and never jumping. There’s a certain excitement being in a plane, door open, chute on your back, blue sky a step away. But if you never step into the 10,000 foot ether, if you never shift into 3rd, it’s just a mirage of possibilities and unfulfilled promise.
“OK. Let’s try it again,” I say trying to remain calm, yet firm. “Remember. It’s a balancing act, like a dance between your left foot on the clutch, coming out smoothly as you depress the accelerator with your right foot.”
“Balancing act. Dance. Accelerator. Got it!,” the boy says.
I can tell he’s overwhelmed. It is a lot to learn. It took me half a day just to get him to let go of the steering wheel with both hands. He comes from a generation of safety, where 10 & 2 is the law. I almost had to physically pull his right hand off the wheel and put it on the shifter. The thought of driving the car with only one hand seemed incredulous to him. It was a driving school violation of egregious proportions.
He puts in the clutch and starts the engine.
The 8 cylinder Mustang is powerful and rumbles in the parking lot. The engine reverberates like thunder off the buildings that surround us.
I stare at the parking lot exit and see the street beyond. I realize that motoring freedom will never be found in this concrete cage. This car wants to run. 2nd gear? It’s just a suggestion. It’s a quick fix to the speed that exits in the higher numbers of the drive chain.
I know that sometimes to fly, the baby bird has to be thrown from the nest. I think it’s time to spread our wings and jump.
“OK, let’s go for it,” I say.
The boy’s eyes open with trepidation. “Out there? I don’t think I’m ready for it.”
I eye ball the road. It’s Sunday in Middle Tennessee. Anyone who could T bone us is currently praying to Jesus in any of a 1000 churches in this square mile of town.
“No. It’s time. The roads are as empty as they are ever going to be.”
The kid puts the car in first, takes a deep breath and lets off the clutch.
The car begins to chug and sputter gasping for gas. We are a pogo stick with four tires.
I feel my spleen massaging my scrotum. It’s an odd sensation.
Glug. Glug. Glug. The car is lurching like Apollo 13 reentering the Earth’s atmosphere. The kinetic energy is all wrong, like chewing glass saturated in vinegar.
Mental note to self: Check for lost fillings and loose coins.
“Gas. Gas. Gas.” I holler over the thunder of a lurching vehicle. “Do the dance. Balance,” I say quickly.
The boy steps on the accelerator. I hear the thump of mistimed driving equal out as the clutch disengages and gasoline fuels the thirsty cylinders.
The car is moving forward.
“Shift,” I say sternly.
The boy engages the clutch and drops it into 2nd gear.
“Dance,” I command.
He lets out the clutch and gives the engine fuel.
“Feel that?” I say over the roar of 2nd gear quickly winding out. “The car knows what it wants. You don’t have to look at anything. You can hear what it needs. You can feel what it wants.”
The boy says nothing as we pull up to the stop sign at the edge of the parking lot.
He puts in the clutch, and coasts to a stop.
He eyes the vacant street like a pirate eyes the end of the plank.
He doesn’t say anything, but I know he is nervous. He has never driven on a street before having to shift with his left foot, accelerate with his right foot, steer with his left hand and shift with his right hand. 1st. 2nd. 3rd. 4th. 5th. It’s a lot to think about, in addition to the rules of the road and all the dummies out there texting and driving thinking about everything but the road.
“You ready?”
He takes a deep breath.
“Yep.”
“Dance!”
We pull onto the road. The start is smooth, almost fluid.
“You feel it? Shift!”
The boy drops it into 2nd, and releases the clutch.
The car accelerates smoothly.
“Dance!”
Right foot up. Left foot in.
Shift.
Right foot in. Left foot off.
Vroom.
We enter a new dimension of time and space. 3rd gear. It is a wondrous place where RPM majesty cuddles with smooth acceleration.
I see the boy is excited. He says nothing.
“Listen to the car. It’s speaking to you. It wants you to drive it. It wants to drive.”
The engine is performing, the whine is musical.
“Now. Dance.”
The boy drops it into 4th gear and the car lurches ahead.
“Your driving boy. You’re driving.”
The speed limit on the road is 45 mph. The car is barely doing 2500 RPM’s.
“The car doesn’t need to shift, but I want you to at least feel 5th gear. So shift, up and over.”
He eye balls me. “Up and over?”
I nod. “Now.”
Clutch in. He pushes the shifter up and to the right. The car easily transitions to 5th gear.
“Welcome to 5th gear boy!”
He smiles. The car is moving at 55 mph. We are running out of road before the traffic circle ahead.
“OK, lets down shift. Same idea, just in reverse.”
“4th?,” He says, his brain computing speed, distance, and physical properties of a gear shift with no numbers.
“Let the car show you the way,” I say. “It will find the right gear. Just let it. OK. Dance!”
He pulls the shifter out of 5th and I sense the moment of indecision. He jerks the shifter over to the left and drops it into gear. Suddenly the engine blares a nasty RPM siren. This is what it sounds like aboard the Starship Enterprise as they entered Romulan Space. Shields Up! RED ALERT!!
The boy has down shifted from 5th to 2nd and the car is belching stinky hatred for us.
“Clutch in!,” I holler.
He puts in the clutch and quickly finds 4th gear.
“That wasn’t good,” he says.
“Yeah it was, boy. You’re learning to drive.”
We blaze a trail down the road; a dad, a boy, and a car that just wants to dance.
Life’s Crazy™