Preview: “Driving Lessons”

I learned to drive in a 1996 Dodge Ram conversation van. It was white and flanked with a recreational forest green design to match its plush interior bucket seats and decorative overhead lighting. My parents always drove a van. They were martial arts teachers and frequently invited to do performances and demonstrations. A van was the most economical way to haul a large wooden drum and lion costume, long sticks and spears, and other kung fu weapons. It was the best way to ensure their students—who were often college students without cars in the city—would be able to perform at these shows. 

It was less ideal for driving lessons.

But, when I turned sixteen and a half, I went to the DMV, got my learner’s permit, and buckled up behind the wheel of the 7-seater van to learn how to drive the unpredictable streets of Boston.

I barreled along the curves of the Jamaicaway and looped around rotaries. I merged onto I-95 and I-93 and the Mass Pike. Routes that I knew from the comfort of the passenger’s seat became intimidating, and the other drivers were unforgiving. I felt equal parts excitement and terror when I asked my parents, “Can I drive?”

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