“You’re having a baby? You need to learn how to drive.”
I was 4 months pregnant and living in London when one of my more practical friends hit me with this. It was true that I’d never got my license and was happy to sit in the passenger seat while everyone drove me everywhere. But Vanessa pointed out that once that baby popped out, I would become increasingly dependent on The Huz and what if he wasn’t around? What if I needed to get somewhere in a hurry? What if I couldn’t manage the Underground or bus?
I had to admit she had a point; I might become isolated.
That thought scared me. But there were obstacles.
“Well, we haven’t got much money and driving lessons are expensive.”
Vanessa simply said, “I’ll pay for them.”
She insisted; she said it would be a gift. You couldn’t argue with Vanessa…well you could try, but once her mind was made up, that was that.
I considered it. As she was financially stable it wasn’t going to put her in troubles. So I decided to graciously accept what became known as The Driving Lessons.
* * * * *
When The Huz went away on tour, I could easily shop for groceries, visit friends, and head for the doctors if the wee one ran a fever. When I suffered from post-natal depression, and everything overwhelmed me, my driver’s license got me out to mother/baby playgroups every day.
Vanessa had been right. I was ever so grateful.
* * * * *
Years passed and we moved to Vancouver and eventually Montreal. I was working full time as a producer and had a decent salary. I began to think, why not pass Vanessa’s gift on to someone who needs it? I began to search for suitable candidates…someone whose situation would mean they’d benefit from the ability to drive but who couldn’t afford it financially. I approached several people but it wasn’t so easy! You’d be surprized at how many people are actually unwilling to learn to drive.
They say they want to, but if you put it within their reach, they will shy away. They may prefer to be driven, or the responsibility of being behind the wheel is too much. People have their reasons, I guess.
And then I met Martin. Martin and Colleen were the parents of our daughter’s kindergarten BFF. We became good friends with them; we hung out, we went to the countryside together with our collection of kids and dogs, and we had some pretty great dinners. Martin rocked a fantastic salad with baby spinach, lemon and salt. Good times!
Martin did all the driving in their family as Colleen was a NON-DRIVER. Actually it was kind of a bone of contention between them.
As our friendship grew, the closer we became, the more certain I was that Colleen would be the ideal recipient for Vanessa’s gift.
You see, Martin had terminal brain cancer. It’s strange to become friends with someone knowing that you will one day lose them completely. By the time we met he’d already survived a couple of brain surgeries to remove tumors, and all kinds of radiation therapy and chemo. He’d lived longer than modern medicine said he would, managing to help raise two daughters from babyhood to children. He was doing okay… but I knew that someday he wouldn’t be able to drive anymore and that Colleen could be stranded…and isolated. The family had little money and their collective ability to work was becoming sporadic. I decided to offer her The Driving Lessons.
Colleen resisted at first, perhaps not wanting to accept a charity. But I asked her to reflect on it; I said that someday, if she ever was in a position to do so, she could pass on The Driving Lessons to someone else. And that way Vanessa’s gift could keep on giving. She agreed.
Several months later Colleen got her driver’s license. She eventually took over all the driving for her husband, their two children and two large dogs. Martin, once an Ironman triathlete, lived as long as he could and when the cancer took too much, he gently passed away at home. He is missed. I made some spinach salad yesterday and it made me think fondly of him.
Our kids are still great friends, and well into the throes of their adolescence.
And Colleen? I just saw her in her car outside our kids’ school and she honked at me.