My siblings probably know this, but not the kids......
August 7, 1972
I had just turned 16 and Dad, desperately wanting another driver in the house, took me to get my beginner's licence. I aced the written test, after which I drove to the shopping plaza on Dougall. I drove perfectly, pulled expertly into the parking spot and rather than skillfully apply the brake, I hit the gas. Yup, not the brake, but the gas! Dad desperately tried to slam on the special drivers instructor brake that he was used to using in the driver's ed car (He taught that at the high school.), but alas, it wasn't a driver's ed car, it was our car, and there was no instructor brake. The car careened up and across the front bumper of another car. Dad guided me to get us off of the other guy's car, put a note on his windshield, and insisted we go into the store for whatever we were there for. He told me there was no real damage, just our paint scraped onto the bumper. Dad wouldn't let me see the damaged side of the vehicle until we got home. I was shocked to see that there was a long scratch/dent going from the front wheel well to the middle of the back door. I felt horrible, but he showed no negativity at all. To my knowledge, the other driver never called about it.
Dad was like that. He didn't overreact in situations that most would. He let life teach us the lessons. I think I would have felt better if he had got even a little mad.
