I can remember, as if it were just an hour ago, the first time I drove thru a red light. It was way back in 1989 and I was a sixteen old pimply nerd about to hit the streets of Bedford with a tank of a truck embarking on that rite of passage, my driver’s test. Another fond memory from the goofy days of my youth was about to go down for the purposes of traumatizing me for the rest of my life.
I remember being as nervous as a first time skydiver who was about to get kicked off the plane from fifteen thousand feet that day. The heebie-jeebies were riding me pretty good as I pulled into the DMV parking lot with my mom who assured me everything would be alright. We walked in and met the DMV’s chief certifier, an ancient and humorless hag from some lost platoon of the Civil War. She took command and escorted me back out to my parent’s ’69 Ford to joy ride around town and to see if I was worthy of being trusted with a license to drive anything bigger than a bicycle.
All things considered the test drive went well enough as we made a loop thru town and were making our way back to the DMV. It was then that somehow… some way… I mindlessly missed a red light on Longwood. I think I was so hyperfocused on the road and just getting back to the DMV that it didn’t register in my teenage brain that I was approaching an intersection with a red light up ahead. I’m sure I would have noticed had a car or two had already stopped and were waiting for the light to turn green. But alas, there were none. So I zipped right thru that intersection totally oblivious it was even there. Thank God no one else was pulling into Longwood at that moment. But I guessed (correctly) that I must had loused up big time when my certifier let out a deep and nervous whimper and then told me, rather nonchalantly, that I just drove thru a red light. Really?!! I was shocked and amazed that a red light had snuck by me and wondered how I was gonna explain that to my mom who surely wouldn’t be pleased. I half expected to get a chewing out from my shotgun certifier or, at the least, demand I stop the truck so she could get out and walk back the the DMV. But, bless her, she didn’t say anything or make me stop the truck. I guess if the Civil War can’t break you nothing will.
Needless to say, mom was peeved (to put it mildly) when she found out I ran a red light on my drivers test. I can still hear her reading me the riot act as she made me drive lap after lap after lap around the Longwood block until her voice gave out. I’m not sure, but this unfortunate episode may have been when the gray in her hair began coming on.
Oh well. Life goes on. And that’s my best advice for today.
Cheers,
Bryan
