Not Like Me

Not Like Me

The following story is absolutely true and can be verified by several people. The names have been slightly changed to protect the not so innocent.

The 8th grade was a year of many changes for me. My family relocated to Southern California from Missouri and my mother married my stepfather. I was not happy about either of these changes. Not because our home in California wasn't a good place or because my stepfather was not a good person, mainly because I was a self-centered spoiled brat. SO… I decided to make every attempt to make my family miserable by being just that. When my mother re-married, my siblings and I stayed with my aunt and uncle while my parents were on their honeymoon. I was one month away from being fourteen.

One day into our hiatus from home, I decided that I could very easily "borrow" my mom's car while they were on their honeymoon and my friends and I could cruise around Hemet in the middle of the night enjoying the freedom of having a drivers license and a car without actually having either of those two things. I had also determined that on the very small chance that I would get caught, it would be by either my very cool aunt or my very cool uncle – neither of which (in my mind) would have ever turned my into the warden. (A term I lovingly gave to my mother.) On the second night of my parent's seven-day honeymoon, I waited until the whole house was quiet, I grabbed the key that was haphazardly lying inside a dish on the bar and slid out the front door of my aunt and uncles house. I approached the baby blue 1980 Chrysler Cordoba as if it were some sort of untouchable treasure chest. I slowly unlocked the door, opened it carefully, slipped it into gear and pushed it two houses down before I got in and started the engine. I was thirteen years old and had no valid experience behind the wheel of a car.

I felt like I had just won the lottery as I made my way toward Grand Teton to pick up one of my best friends, we'll call her "Not Danette." In hindsight, I am pretty confident that I cared about being "Not Danette's" friend way more than she cared about being mine. She was my idol. She was everything I wanted to be back then but didn't have the guts to actually pull it off. She was rebellious but not in the sneaking out and stealing your mom's car kind of way, in the up front and in your face kind of way. "Not Danette" was very cool. She even had a mohawk that I myself would have loved to have had if I'd had the nerve, which I didn't. Everyone seemed to like her and wanted to be in her circle. Even though she was a FRESHMAN, she allowed me in. She brought me into her fold and allowed me to be part of her world even though I was sure I was unworthy. I wanted "Not Danette" to think I was cool too. I wanted her to understand why she let me in. I never wanted her to wonder why I was there or to forget why she found me and started including me in the first place. Thus, "Not Danette" was ALWAYS first. First to be seen at school, first choice to sit with at lunch, first to call on the phone, first to be considered for anything special and first to be picked up when I "borrowed" my Mom's car. After "Not Danette" came the others. "Not Cerena," "Not Melissa," "Not Tina," "Not Regina," "Not Michelle" and more. Anyone who wanted to come could, and we would cruise down Florida Avenue making stops at Games Plus and the local bowling alley.

That night it began and many more nights for the next month or so we repeated the process. My aunt and uncle didn't catch me so when my parents returned from their honeymoon, I kept "borrowing" the car. The only differences were, I had my own key made so I wouldn't have to "borrow" my mom's key, I snuck out of my bedroom window instead of the front door and didn't have to push the car because our driveway was on a hill so it would coast down to the street where I would crank the engine and take off for a few hours of freedom.

Just before summer, I did get caught. Not from an accident, thank God, just by failure to properly parallel park.

I sat in the passenger seat of my own car Friday afternoon at 4:30 pm and wondered how on earth I found the courage to put myself behind the wheel of a car at just thirteen years old. I had no fear back then. I probably would have "borrowed" a plane had one been available. Sadly and sometimes tragically, fear is a foreign concept to many teenagers. As adults we realize the potential implications of being a first time driver. I was reminded of this when realized that I was scared out of my mind as my daughter buckled the driver's side seat belt and began to put the car in gear. Allyssa finally decided she wanted to get her learner's permit. She passed the test and is now legally allowed (and encouraged by the DMV) to drive a motor vehicle. At top speeds of about 35 MPH, five stop signs, three traffic lights, ten miles and twenty minutes later we arrived safely into our driveway. As I took deep breaths to keep from throwing up, I looked at Allyssa, white knuckles to the steering wheel and wondered how we got here this quickly. Not here in the driveway, but HERE. Her sitting next to me, DRIVING! While I was thanking God for allowing us to make back to the house safely, I also said a little Thank You for Allyssa not being at all like I was at her age.