Finally, after months and months of procrastination, I am finally working my way to getting my license. I have roughly a month and a half until my test, and the thought of it keeps me from sleep. I do not like driving. Driving makes me anxious. I don't get scared. Or worried. But it makes me antsy.
Having my father as my driving instructor has been the experience I imagined exactly to be. I should give him more credit though, he's rather patient. Now typically, the story is supposed to go like this. Your parent is supposed to give you a hard time. Your parent is supposed to have a yelling fiasco with you because of something you don't believe you did wrong. There's screaming, there's swearing, there's swerving of the car, maybe there's even tears.
My dad doesn't yell. He doesn't scream. He sighs. His eyes get big. He repeatedly exclaims, "Oh my gahd,," in his thickest accent. He lectures, but I can never understand. "Stop" does not mean stop. It means...something else. And I always have to "crawl" because the examiner is looking for that. And brake means brake but brake means stop, but why can't stop mean brake?
Well, props to papa either way. I'm reckless and careless, but his patience and reassurance keeps me together when on the driver's seat. We've been driving more frequently. And he's right, if I kept up on my driving this passed summer, I would've been really good by now. It's alright, better now than never!
October 14th everyone!
Having my father as my driving instructor has been the experience I imagined exactly to be. I should give him more credit though, he's rather patient. Now typically, the story is supposed to go like this. Your parent is supposed to give you a hard time. Your parent is supposed to have a yelling fiasco with you because of something you don't believe you did wrong. There's screaming, there's swearing, there's swerving of the car, maybe there's even tears.
My dad doesn't yell. He doesn't scream. He sighs. His eyes get big. He repeatedly exclaims, "Oh my gahd,," in his thickest accent. He lectures, but I can never understand. "Stop" does not mean stop. It means...something else. And I always have to "crawl" because the examiner is looking for that. And brake means brake but brake means stop, but why can't stop mean brake?
Well, props to papa either way. I'm reckless and careless, but his patience and reassurance keeps me together when on the driver's seat. We've been driving more frequently. And he's right, if I kept up on my driving this passed summer, I would've been really good by now. It's alright, better now than never!
October 14th everyone!
