My first driving lesson is close to killing me. Y my father.

In high school and junior high, I had a summer job with my father in the oil fields south of San Antonio. On a slow day, we piled into Dad’s company vehicle (a Dodge) for my first driving lesson.

race collision

I lost control of the clutch and we went on a collision course with a battery of oil storage tanks. When I panicked, my right leg stiffened; my foot stuck the throttle to the ground.

It was over; there was not an iota of doubt in my mind about it.

daddy goal No panic. She quickly cut the ignition and turned the wheel just enough to avoid hitting the tanks. We got safely into the soft sandy shore of a watering hole.

He wasn’t upset; I WAS. I swore I would never, ever, ever get in the driver’s seat again. It was over… over!

“Jimmy, what is this car doing right now?” she asked patiently, certainly sensing my panic.

“Well, uh, well…nothing, Dad. The car isn’t doing anything right now.”

“That’s right. And he’s NOT going to do anything. Unless do something happens, this car is just going to sit here until it’s a pile of rust.”

Learned lessons

We continue the lesson. I learned to drive that day, but I also learned two things that would follow me for life. I learned that Fred Sutton, although he was not a professional educator, was an excellent teacher. I also learned that knowledge, confidence in one’s abilities, and meaningful relationships (certainly including spiritual relationships) are powerful antidotes to anything the world can throw at any of us.

I have often thought about how easy it would be for a parent to yell or yell at their son or daughter caught in such a situation, especially when that parent is what’s more afraid. Who could blame them; Most of us have been there.” It would be quite a natural response.

I think Dad knew intuitively that lecturing me about my driving mistakes would have served no real purpose. True to that thought, he never said another word to me about it. If he thought he had learned that lesson well enough without additional reminders, he was right.

Over the years, I have tried to follow his example, but not perfectly, by no means. Put another way, this is what I think it means: It’s easy to be part of the problem, but it’s much better to be part of the solution.

Dad passed away in 1998 after a valiant fight against cancer. Since then, there have been many times when I wished I could get back in that old Dodge for one more lesson from a great teacher.