Ma'am, She Can't Drive!

Fast approach. Sideswipe. You just died. My driving teacher’s phrases snap together like pieces of a puzzle as I brake in rush hour traffic. Even though I’m a grown gal with a ride, mortgage, and career, Paul Faulkner will always be a grand influence in my life. He taught me the rules of the road.

Mr. Faulkner, King of the Road!

At eighteen, I was a danger to myself and others behind the wheel. My long-suffering mom and dad risked their lives as my co-pilot in many a parking lot and street. Rock bottom came when I spectacularly failed the driving test (my first of three). The examiner clung to the handlebar as I almost sideswiped a truck in the left lane. My U-turn almost took out a sign and the screech of my brakes at a red light made the bald fifty-something’s life flash before his eyes.

Back at the DMV, my poor mom waited on a grassy hill with the other expectant parents. The teens rocketed out of their cars with exuberant sounds of “I passed!” met with “I’m so proud of you!” But not me. I clawed up the mountain like a wounded soldier, tears streaming down my face. “I failed!” I cried, rushing into my mom’s arms. The other parents backed away as if I was a plague on their victories. The shaky examiner begged my mom to keep me off the road.

If my determined mom had divined my savior, she couldn’t have done any better than Mr. Faulkner. That first day, he stood in my driveway like he owned it. He wore bold sweaters with the ultimate authority in personal fashion, which added to his astounding charisma and cadence. He told my mom that I could drive and I just needed to learn the rules. My mom made no bones about the fact that I had to succeed. Mr. Faulkner said there was no way I was going to fail on his watch.

Faulkner’s “information overload” method kept me in a constant state of awareness. He used phrases like “fast approach” if you came up too quickly on another car, “sideswipe” if you drifted out of your lane, and the big one: “You just died.” His bold emphasis on “died” made you feel like you had actually passed on and he was the minister eulogizing at your funeral. He dared you to face the realities of even the smallest mistake. Because of this, you felt that much more redeemed when you looked both ways before entering an intersection.

When I failed for a second time on a technicality (I made a right on red instead of stopping before turning), Mr. Faulkner did not yell. He never raised his voice, because he didn’t have to. He gave me a hug and said we would return next week. We reviewed our game plan. That third time proved to be the charm. The examiner said what I longed to hear: “Congratulations, you passed.” I ran to Mr. Faulkner screaming, “I passed!” We celebrated with a trip to Chick-fil-A, my treat. The months of hearing “You just died” had paid off.

Fast forward seven years, and Mr. Faulkner and I are doing lunch at Mimosa Grill. I’m interviewing him for The Charlotte Observer. I tell him that I haven’t had one accident since I got my license with a stationary or moving object. As we dive into our salads, Mr. Faulkner reveals that it’s been his dream to be interviewed by one of his students. I realize I’ve become as much a part of his life as he has mine. My driving lessons are a shared accomplishment in facing challenges and pursuing a passion. He tells me, “They say that if you find something you enjoy doing, you never work. I haven’t worked a day in my life.”

Check out my profile on Mr. Faulkner: http://www.charlotteobserver.com/2011/10/30/2727008/hes-been-king-of-the-road-for.html