Being able to drive is every kid’s dream. Whether it’s that 12 year-old Need for Speed addict or that incessant younger sister waiting for the day when she can drive herself to the mall, every kid looks forward to driving. With good reason.

There’s a gradient of mobility as you get older. You begin by crawling and, as such, your accessible radius is only a couple hundred feet. Next come walking, running, and biking. Maybe scootering. The ability to drive provides that final threshold of mobility. With a car, you can go virtually anywhere, paved or not.

With the greater range of mobility comes greater independence. With a license, you no longer have to rely on friends for rides, or wait for the parents’ mini van to pull up. It’s a good feeling for the new driver, and a relief for the former ride-provider. Ironically, with greater independence comes greater responsibility. And soon enough, the new driver becomes the new ride-provider.

Now the proud owner of a 2007 Honda Accord, I find it amusing to look back at the steps that got me my license. Drivers education was, put bluntly, a major pain. A mandatory 30 hours of instruction, drivers ed ate up a significant chunk of the end of my sophomore year–time that could’ve been better spent reviewing for my upcoming AP and SAT II exams. There were very few people that I knew in my class, as most were freshmen. My impression from the first day of drivers ed was that everyone was somewhat dim-witted, unwilling to be there, and generally immature. Nobody really paid attention to the teacher and nobody took anything seriously. By the second class period, that became the case with me, too.

Looking back, I paid absolutely zero attention in drivers ed. And that would explain why I absolutely failed (I literally got a big red ‘F’) the practice written test at the end of the session. Until then, drivers ed class had been wholly spent on finishing my school homework for that night, doodling, or napping…and sometimes all three. Whatever homework was assigned in the drivers ed class itself, I would put off until the day it was due, copy answers from someone a little more motivated than me in the 5 minutes before class, and call it a job well-done. I had never been as much of a slacker during those 30 hours than I had been in my entire life. By the end of it, many of freshman that I had once looked down upon with contempt for their immaturity, knew more about safe driving than I did. My ignorance was a bit disgusting.

After getting the certificate that proved my completion of drivers ed, I recognized that passing the actual written test would require at least some study. One weekend in particular, I made it my goal to read the entire Minnesota driver’s guide from cover to cover. I got through one page and called it enough.

Most of what I did learn came from watching. Whenever I would get dropped off or picked up from wherever, I would pay close attention to what my dad did on the road. Occasionally, he would describe a certain nuance that I was recommended to keep in mind when time came for the written exam. Everything seemed obvious enough.

Serendipity and common sense were the sole factors responsible for my passing of the written test. I only got one wrong, and probably put in a fraction of the effort that others had. As such, my emotions after the test came in the following order: astonishment, jubilation, pride, extreme guilt.

The first time I actually drove a car was the day before my first behind the wheel session. It’s expected that one has a relatively good deal of driving experience before taking the behind the wheel sessions. Again, I was sickeningly behind. I wouldn’t call a few hours of driving a “relatively good deal of driving experience,” and I don’t know anybody that would.

The next day, I did not kill anyone.

The next two behind the wheel sessions were also lacking in casualties.

By the end of the summer, I did have a relatively good deal of driving experience. For the first time in my driving career, I knew what I was doing and I was steadily making up for my ignorance in the drivers ed classroom. Later on, both my dad and I were enthralled to find that I was a natural parallel parking and 90-degree backing pro. It was a relief to find that something I anticipated as being difficult actually came quite easily. In other words, it meant less time devoted to practice on my part.

Toward the end of the summer and into my junior year, I drove regularly, with my dad in the passenger’s seat. As the date of my road test approached, I felt reasonably confident; I was completely different from the indifferent, procrastinating sloth that I was in the drivers ed room. I knew how to drive, and how to drive safely.

I passed the road test with ease. The only semblance of criticism I got was some unmemorable quip about being more ‘observant’: something I completely ignored, considering that I tried to make my head the most exaggeratedly dynamic part of my body during those 10 minutes with the evaluator. I was practically whipping my hair back and forth to see the non-existent cars coming up behind me as my Honda moseyed into the adjacent lane. Be more observant? You be more observant!

Getting my license was more of a practical necessity for me than anything else. Having to go the U of M nearly everyday for my research apprenticeship, I could not and cannot rely on carpools for the remainder of the year, especially with my full-day schedule. Luckily, I am able to both get there and avoid rush hour simultaneously.

There were a few potholes along the way, but I can now truthfully say that I’m a good driver.