Reminiscence of the Good Old Days

The first time I drove a car on the Freeway was on a trip down to see my grandparents. The day was growing gray and the freeway began turning through hilly Montana mountain passes. The season being dry and hot, meant there were also orange construction workers out finishing up for the day. Dad was in the passenger seat and Mom in the back, leaving me, tense and awkward, with my hands on the wheel. As night got closer, Mom and Dad began giving more advice. Dad gave advice in a matter-of-fact manner, and Mom in a nervous, untrusting way. "Turn your lights on." "Slow down." "Go into the other lane." Get around that car." "Watch for deer." Flustered, I began up a hill, and out of nowhere orange cones appeared on the middle line with no sign telling me where to go. I picked the right side, only to have Mom start worriedly gasping I was in the wrong lane. This of course, made me stress, but instead of slowing down and calmly going to the other lane, I began weaving in and out of cones while going 70 mph up a dark hill. Mom and Dad were silent now, probably reliving every moment of their lives one last time. Eventually, after a few more swerves between cones, I managed to get and stay in the left lane and after a few minutes of heavy breathing, Mom said "I think you have a career in NASCAR...." That was the last of my driving for that trip.