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How I learned to drive

May 9, 2014May 9, 2014 by Melissa Price-Mitchell

The comment I was writing on Rebecca’s post about learning to drive blew up and turned into its own blog post, so I posted it here instead.

1994-1996: Getting my G1

Growing up rural (I lived in a small town, then moved out into the country in 1996), I got my G1 as soon as I could. I was a nervous driver (even on country roads) and my mother was a nervous teacher so we didn’t drive together till I had some more practice – and lessons – under my belt. If I was going to be able to go anywhere on my own, I needed to be able to drive. I wanted that freedom – and a social life – so I learned to drive.

1997-2000: Not fully licensed, and not caring

When I moved to Oshawa to go to school, I had my G2, but didn’t have a car. My now-husband did and sometimes I rode with him. I always had a bus pass so I could get where I needed to go without relying on him since we were on different schedules.

2000-2003: Had my license, but rarely drove

Once I started commuting into Toronto to work after college, I was willing to let my license lapse – transit got me where I needed to go. The larger city roads and more aggressive drivers (never mind the 401!) scared the crap out of me. My mother insisted I get my license and I signed up for two batches of refresher lessons (one in Oshawa, one in Belleville) when I was 20-ish. I got my full G license before my G2 expired, which was a relief – I didn’t have to worry about it anymore. I took my final G test in Belleville and not Oshawa because I was more familiar with those streets, having driven them on my own as a teenager. Those roads didn’t intimidate me. When the tester told me I passed, my first reaction was “ohmygawd, REALLY?’ – I had really messed up the parallel parking (something I’ve never even attempted since).

When we first moved into Toronto proper back in 2000, I didn’t drive. City streets still scared me and everyone was so aggressive! Sean had an ancient vehicle (a 1982 Chevrolet Caprice) that I was intimidated to drive as I had been spoiled by power steering and newer cars. I relied on the TTC and made Sean drive us places when we needed to go somewhere that was transit-unfriendly.

2004-2008: Getting braver

The Caprice was retired and Sean had purchased a 1994 minivan at the end of 2003 – nearly five years before we had our first child (we were lugging a lot of stuff around then I think). We were engaged to be married and had recently purchased our first house in Scarborough. I still relied on transit, but after a few successful trips to the grocery store in the van, I started to drive around my neighbourhood more. Errands got done with less nagging and everyone was happy.

2008-2012: Early Parenthood

When Flora was born in 2008, I stayed home with her for the first nine months. New babies are intimidating to take on public transit when you’re still dragging so much stuff with you (I wrote about my experience with that). We had a newer car by then (the minivan gave up the ghost in 2007) and Sean usually drove to work and I took transit. Once I was off work, I insisted that I get the car at least once a week so I could leave the house with Flora without it being a complete production. My driving radius got a lot bigger during this time. Necessity and boredom create bravery and Flora and I drove to the mall a lot. I drove the 401 more, but mostly heading out of the GTA.

2012-Present: Commuting again

We left Toronto in 2012 and were back to being commuters again. We bought a second car. Even though I commute to work by GO train, I do a lot more driving than I ever have. Short distances mostly, but lots of them. I drive to and from the train station, do my errands and get Flora where she needs to go. I’m not nearly as nervous anymore, but Sean is still the alpha driver at our house. When we can drive together, we do, but it happens rarely outside of visits to our parents. I drive the 401 when I have to, but I don’t enjoy it.

I guess I should thank my mother this Mother’s Day for ~~forcing~~ strongly encouraging me to get my driver’s license. Without it, I wouldn’t have the independence I do now, even though I live in an urban area. Thanks Mom.

Living out rockstar dreams in my car

October 28, 2012 by Melissa Price-Mitchell

Sometimes I think the only time I get to use my whole voice is when I sing.

I don’t sing professionally and I hate all the singing shows on TV. My singing is limited to my car, games of Rock Band and rare karaoke nights.

I’m not a good singer – I wreck my throat after one karaoke song and I’m completely untrained. I like music but I’m not as up-to-date on current trends as I used to be.

When I was a teenager, I learned to play my favourite songs thanks to OLGA. That site is long gone – a casualty of the ongoing battle of the music industry versus the internet. I even wrote a few songs. I never played them publicly, but if I’d had better self-esteem at seventeen, I may have.

Those songs are long gone now. I can hear snippets in my head, but not much else. We’re all probably better off – the songs of a seventeen year old girl with an acoustic guitar pining for boys who wouldn’t understand aren’t songs for the ages.

These days, I sing along with the radio in my car. Now that I’m a commuter, I have more time in the car alone. Most nights the radio goes up loud and I feel free. I feel subversive when I roll into Flora’s school blasting something inappropriate. Then I turn it off and go get my kid. We ride home in silence most days because my girl doesn’t get loud rock music yet.

She may not ever, in the ultimate act of rebellion against her parents.

Fun fact: When I was pregnant, we tried to get Flora to kick by putting headphones on my belly. Metallica’s ‘Enter Sandman’ was on my mp3 player and that’s what we tried with. She completely ignored us. Whatever – babies are fickle and kick when they want to. The day we brought her home, Sean had the radio on and Enter Sandman comes on again. The radio wasn’t loud but as I sat in the back with my newborn in a shell-shocked, WTF-do-I-do-now haze, I smiled because life was still happening even though I was now someone’s mother. I still liked the same loud music I did before I became Her Mother. That comforted me. That it was the same song that we tried to get her to kick for was an added bonus.

It took me a long time to learn to like to sing. On my first day of kindergarten, I decided I didn’t want to sing Head and Shoulders with the class. I did the motions but didn’t sing. My teacher noticed and asked me why I wasn’t singing. I didn’t answer. She then put her hands on her hips and asked me to say sorry for not singing with the class. I didn’t because I wasn’t sorry. I didn’t want to sing and I wasn’t doing it. The teacher didn’t like my silent defiance and I was told to go put my head down at one of the classroom tables.

In third grade, I was one of maybe seven kids in my class that was not invited to join the choir made up of primary-level kids (grades 1-3). Maybe it was because there wasn’t enough room for everyone on the stands. Maybe it was because they thought I was too shy (a reasonable assumption). I took it to mean they thought I was a bad singer. I did my extra reading and was happy but my relationship with singing took a huge hit for years afterward.

I think these stories lead up to why I like karaoke so much. It’s a forgiving medium. You can completely suck and still be cheered at the end. It’s hard to get up in front of people and make yourself vulnerable by singing. I think most people recognize that.

I subscribe to the theory “if you can’t sing it good, sing it loud”. This applies to life as well. Better to get up, own your issues and go for it anyway, than sit in the back and be mad that you wimped out yet again. I’ve done both, and I have lot more fun (or get a lot more said) when I actually get brave enough to potentially make a jackass of myself in public.

I know I’m not as good as I think I am in my head. I’m not as bad as I think I am either. At least I’m trying.

You should too. You don’t have to get on stage to try.

No one was hurt

May 8, 2012May 8, 2012 by Melissa Price-Mitchell

I had a car accident about six weeks ago.

It was minor as far as car accidents go: I was okay, the other guy was okay. Our cars needed some work, but that is long settled and I’m back behind the wheel. I wasn’t sore the next day, but I was exhausted emotionally after spending hours sobbing out of shame, fear and worry. I’m not sure if I’ve ever cried that much all at once.

What if I had hurt the other person?

What if I had been hurt?

What if my kid had been with me?

What if? What if? What if?

I spent a lot of time the day of the accident waiting for someone to yell at me: the other driver, the woman at the body shop, the report taker and cop at the collision centre, Sean, my mom, my colleagues who were waiting for me at the office.

No one yelled – people were almost blasé about it. “Cars get wrecked all the time. No one was hurt and that’s what matters.” This is true and I would say the same thing to someone else, but I had a hard time shaking the shame and the guilt that I. Fucked. Up.

It happened on my way to work so I drive past the spot where it happened twice a day, five days a week. These days, I’m extra vigilant around where it happened, but not overly so. I made sure to get back behind the wheel quickly so I wouldn’t be afraid to when my car was fixed. Two days after the accident, I drove with Sean and Flora to the grocery store. Sean bristled at being a passenger and I got us all there in one piece. This event and the expected reactions to it were a big step to returning back to normal.

And I am back to normal. Mostly.