Story last updated at 6:56 a.m.
Tuesday, September 30, 2003
A beginner
gets behind the wheel
BY
PAUL BOWERS
Just
holding the card in my hand, I feel adrenaline rush through me. It's my ticket
to freedom, to happiness and to adulthood. After waiting 15 years and five
days, I finally earned my beginner's permit. I can drive.
That's right.
I turned 15 this month. I'm one of the oldest high school freshmen I know, so
I'm one of the first kids on the block to start driving.
I guess you
could call this a turning point in my life. Driving is a milestone in gaining
my precious independence, so of course I've been looking forward to this a
while. Naturally, my parents were kind of nervous about me being on the road.
(You would be, too, if you'd seen me screeching around the go-kart track at
Frankie's.) But they were cool about it and let me take the test.
All my older
friends had told me the test was really easy, but I skimmed through the South
Carolina Driver's Manual anyway. It contained such mind-numbing nuggets of
wisdom as "a longer distance is needed for stopping on a wet or slippery
pavement" and "You must yield to pedestrians who have properly
entered the intersection." I was just planning on using pedestrians as
speed bumps. Glad they warned me on that one.
I would have
gotten my permit sooner, but my birthday was on a Saturday, and it was one of
the two weekends the Department of Motor Vehicles wasn't open. That's not bad
luck. That's dumb luck.
So I went
Monday afternoon to the Ladson DMV office eager as a kid at Toys 'R Us. But
when I got to the front of the line, the receptionist informed me that I had to
be there before 4 p.m. to take the test. It was about 4:10.
I hurried
back to the DMV after school Wednesday.
The lines
really weren't as long as they look on TV, and soon I was face to face with an
oh-so-cheery employee. I proudly told her I was 15 years old and was there to
get my permit. I handed her my paperwork and stepped into a glass room where I
found Computer No. 2. Two other guys were in there taking tests, one looking
pretty tense, the other looking like he'd taken it a couple of times before.
The test
popped up on the screen, one question at a time, and I answered by tapping the
answer with my finger.
I thought
this was really cool, but it also took just about an eternity to load each
question.
Most of the
questions were no-brainers, like my friends had told me, but they threw a
couple of trick questions in there just for fun, including one that wasn't even
a complete sentence.
I only missed
four out of 30 questions. I walked back out to the reception area with the
uncomfortable seats and lousy paintings on the walls. My mom looked at me
expectantly, hoping she wouldn't have to come back here anytime soon. I nodded
and gave her a thumbs-up.
They took my
picture, I signed my name, and there it was, my very own permit. My mom didn't
let me drive back home, but I've gotten plenty of practice since then.
I didn't
smile when they took my permit picture. The way I figure it, if a cop pulls me
over, I probably won't be grinning like a moron, so I want my picture to match
my face. I know the responsibility that comes with being behind the wheel, and
I'll admit, it's scary sometimes that I'm out there driving, but I'll be OK.
All my
friends at school were stunned when they saw my permit. Some have decided to
take the bus everywhere from now on. They'll all be turning 15 and getting
their permits soon, but until then, I plan to gloat nonstop.
Of course, I
don't have my own car yet. My parents say I have to buy it myself, so I'm
starting to save. I'm looking for something cheap but dependable. By that, I
mean a rusty old junker from someone's front yard with weeds growing out of the
hood.
So maybe one
day you'll see me cruisin' the strip with the top down (because it doesn't have
a top anymore) with one hand on the wheel and the music cranked up. If you do,
be sure to give me a honk. Then get off the road.
Ink
contributor Paul Bowers, 15, is a freshman at Summerville High School. Contact
him at soccerdewd88@sc.rr.com.