Personal Narrative Essay: Learning To Drive

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Sitting behind the steering wheel of my dad’s ‘07 E350 black Mercedes, I trembled in trepidation. My mom sat next to me in the passenger seat trying to calm my nerves, but I was still as anxious as an antelope getting chased by Lion. You ask where I was? In line at the DMV to take my driver’s test for the third or fourth time now (I’ve lost count). See I’ve had my fair share of driving complications ever since I got my permit. As I pulled forward in line, taking care to avoid making my turn too wide, and pulling up to the line to wait for the driving tester, I began to reminisce about how I got to be there in the first place.

It all started two years ago when I was 15. My mom had asked me about getting my permit to learn how to drive, but I
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So my dad decided to take me out driving in parking lots. The thing he didn't figure though was that in his day parking lots were kept open after closing hours and didn't have the kiosk at the entrance/exit to get in. Nowadays many parking lots are gated off after certain hours and since I was busy on weekends we had go at night during the week. Since we didn't have time to drive all the way to the valley, we tried a car wash, a park — anywhere we could find an empty lot, but the car wash went out of business almost immediately, so when the driving instructor from AAA (for my mandatory requirement of professional training for 10 hours) with asked me to drive in the street I was terrified. I had to learn how to turn the wheel properly and where all the buttons in the car were (since we were using their car). When I finally started driving with my parents on the road 3 months in I backed into a Maserati (to be fair the back seats were up too high and maserati’s are low to the ground), a pickup truck, and I ran into my garage wall (which was on a hill). Luckily neither I nor my parents had a pay a cent for some

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