Driving And Driving : The Dangers Of Driving

Decent Essays
I started learning to drive when I was fifteen and a half years old, as most people do. I was eager to get my temporary permit, and didn’t waste any time testing for it as soon as I could. I went out driving for the first time the very next day in my city’s middle school parking lot with my mom.
Turn left, park here,” she would say. I would turn left and I would park. All was going well as I rounded the aisles at 10 miles per hour and practised parking poorly, until I went to give my mom back her keys to drive us home.
“Why don’t you just drive us home?,” she asked. I was hesitant at first but soon agreed as long as she would direct me. She, of course, lead me on a roundabout route with the last destination I can remember being the narrowest turn I still drive around on a regular basis. The car waiting at the stoplight perpendicular to us had pulled up much farther than necessary, making for an even tighter squeeze. Being an inexperienced driver in a two thousand pound pick-up truck, I tried to avoid hitting this car by hugging the curb, maybe a little too tight. I wound up driving up onto the sidewalk and getting stuck in a snowbank. Panicked, I started screaming and crying as I tried to get myself unstuck from this unfortunate situation.
As I sped away, I proclaimed, “I will never drive again,”. I was terrified of failure and, to me, this had been the ultimate humiliation. In my fifteen-year-old mind, I was bound to be driven around for the rest of my life.
Fast forward
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