Patience is Dad's Middle Name
The Corolla has a clutch. Greg teaches Nora how to drive stick-shift.
Number 26 in the 'Ducks in a Row' Series.
(For my father, although he'll never read this.)
………
"Press down the clutch and the brake. To the floor."
"Okay."
"Turn the key." The engine turned over noisily.
"Whoa. Dad, I started the car!" Nora grinned at Greg, biting her lip nervously.
"Okay, now, ease off the clutch, and press down the-" The car jerked violently, and Greg steadied himself with a hand on the dashboard. "Brake!" Nora slammed her foot on the brake, but lifted her foot form the clutch, stalling the car.
"I suck." She frowned, narrowing her eyes at the steering wheel. "What happened? Daddy, Mom told you not to laugh at me." Greg nodded supportively, and tried to hold in his chuckles.
"I'm sorry, Rosie."
"Dad."
"Okay. Now, foot on the brake, no, wait, look at me for a second." Nora slipped her foot off the stalled car's brake, and turned expectantly to her father. Greg held out his hands flat in front of him, and eased up the left, as he lowered the right, in a slow, steady motion. "Left foot easing up, right foot pressing down. Easy. Make love to the clutch." He turned to Nora's cocked eyebrow, and felt his cheeks redden. "Okay, caress the clutch. Don't make love to anything."
"Dad." She crinkled her nose. "Gross."
"Okay. Let's try this again."
"I'm never going to be able to drive, Daddy."
"Not with that attitude. Besides, stick-shifts are hard, but you'll thank me later. Trust me. I got Auntie Malena to drive- alright, Auntie Malena is a bad example. I take no credit for her driving abilities."
"Or lack thereof." Nora deadpanned, turning determinedly back to the wheel.
"Another reason I'm thankful you're learning to drive. Less time with Hodges."
"Dad, don't pick on Hodges."
"Clutch. Give it a little love. Turn the key, there you go. Keep your foot on the clutch, okay, take your right foot off the brake-"
"Whoa, Dad, we're rolling." A brief flash of panic surfaced in his daughter's eyes, but Greg knew there was nothing behind them until the end of the street. Besides, they were barely moving.
"It's okay. Now. Place your foot on the gas. Do not press."
"Got it."
"Put as much pressure on the gas as you take off the clutch."
"What?"
"Gentle. Give it gentle love." Greg flapped his hands in front of him, mimicking taking pressure off the clutch and pressing down the gas. "Slowly." Nora scrunched her features into concentration, and eased her foot off the clutch, pressing down the gas. The car lurched forward, and stalled.
"I really suck."
"No. You're doing better than your mother."
"Really?"
"No. But you're doing better than Auntie Malena."
"Dad."
"Sorry. Supportive. I'm trying. I'm old, Nora, you're giving me whiplash." She sighed dramatically, not appreciating his humor, and he sobered, trying a different approach. "You know how you have to be gentle with the pottery wheel's pedal?"
"Yeah, but this is different, Dad."
"Nah, same thing."
"The pottery wheel only has one pedal, Dad. The car has three."
"Okay, pretend the clutch is a wheel you want to slow down, and the gas is a wheel you want to start. At the same time." She shot him a disbelieving glance, and started the engine again.
"I still suck."
"You haven't even stalled yet. This time."
"Dad."
"Give it a shot. Think pottery wheels."
"Slow down the clutch and start the gas, right?"
"Exactly. Wait, make sure you're in first gear."
"What?"
"Never mind, you are." Greg watched as Nora examined the steering wheel, grasping it tightly, closing her eyes. He bit his lip to keep himself form commenting, and shifted his gaze to her feet. She eased off the clutch awkwardly, pressing down the gas a bit too quickly, but the engine caught, and the car moved forward hesitantly at first, and then smoothly.
"Whoa!"
"There you go. You got it." Greg glanced at the tachometer, and noted the needle rising above the halfway point between two and three. "Okay. Now, lift your foot off the gas, steady, yup, now, press the clutch to the floor. Okay. Take the stick." He placed her hand on the shifter, and guided her hand to second gear. "And into second gear. Okay. Ease up on the clutch, lay into the gas." He grinned at his daughter as she sped the car up to nineteen miles an hour, down most of the length of their street. "Good. Okay. Now, press the clutch to the floor, and ease off the gas, and press the brake. Okay, stop at the stop sign. Good."
"Dad." Nora's tone was soft, and she smiled down at the pedals. "I drove."
"Yeah, yeah you did. I'm proud of you, Nora. Learning to drive is really hard." He smiled at her, and tried not to let the tear forming in the corner of his eye fall. She was growing up so fast. It seemed every time he came home from work, she had grown taller, or older, or smarter. The girl sitting in the driver's seat of the beat up old Corolla he and Sara had bought for her was not the little baby they had picked their home for. She was all grown up, and he was old. She turned to look at him, her features morphing into her own version of her mother's impatient expression.
"Dad."
"What?"
"You're crying."
"Am not."
"So the tear in the corner of you eye is your allergies?"
"Exactly."
"You don't have allergies."
"Shut up woman."
"No you. Crybaby. I'm telling Mom you cried."
"Fine." He laughed. "I'll just tell her you made your father cry." He turned to look her straight in the eye, and she laughed.
"Who's she going to believe? The old man or her sweet little baby girl?"
"I can not believe you called me old."
"Dad."
"No, I think we should talk about this. I'm not old."
"Dad."
"If any ones old it's your mother. She's older than me."
"Dad!"
"What?"
"We're at a stop sign, not in a parking lot."
"Oh right. How about pulling into the driveway?"
"I can do it."
"Just don't hit the Denalis. Ecklie will fire me."
"Yeah, yeah. Okay." Nora scrunched up her nose in concentration again, and eased off the clutch.
"Eyes open this time." He grinned at her, pleased to see that she was watching where she was driving, and there was a hint of a smile playing at her lips.
"You're a riot, Dad. Hysterical." Her voice was flat, and he laughed, trying not to grip the door handle as she took the turn into the driveway a tad sharply.
"Just don't hit the trucks, Nora."
As she pulled slowly into the driveway of 27 Harris Street and turned off the engine, Greg breathed a sigh of relief, relaxing into the passenger seat.
"So when do we do the freeway?" Nora pulled the keys out of the ignition and stared over at him expectantly. Greg laughed, and opened his door, climbing out.
"Let's get you out of second gear first, Rosie."
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A/N: my father taught me in a similar fashion…flapping his hands around like a crazy person and everything. Oh I love him.