Writers are always waxing poetic about the highways and byways of life. I’ve decided most of life is actually lived out in the driveways.
Think about it. Where did you first learn to pedal a tricycle all by yourself? In the driveway, of course. (Just like grandson, Liam, shown here in April.) And I can still remember the feeling in the pit of my stomach the day I stood next to my dad and watched him take the training wheels off my first bike. By the end of the afternoon I was making my wobbly way from one end of the driveway to the other, skinned knees shining in the sunlight.
That same driveway later became the setting for conquests of a different kind. One of my first boyfriends, let’s just call him Harold since that was his name, came over to see me on his new red Moped. He thought he was really cool, and I was at least impressed enough to spend all afternoon standing next to him in the driveway as he straddled his bike and we both tried to think of something to say.
That was just the beginning of driveway romances. Hasn’t it been the same for generations? The car pulls into the driveway. The young couple inside takes advantage of being alone in the dark to steal a kiss…or two…or three…until the porch light starts flashing off and on and the girl knows it’s time to come in.
My dad went beyond flashing the light. Some time during my high school years we bought an electric organ, and Dad chose curfew time to sit down and try to play some of the hymns in the booklet that came with it. Nothing got me into the house faster than hearing the first few chords of his screechy rendition of “Bringing in the Sheaves” wafting through the living room windows.
Of course, learning to drive a car began in the driveway for most of us. Back and forth. Back and forth. When I first laid eyes on my first car, a used, white Chevy II with blue interior, it was sitting in the driveway in front of our house. A dream-come-true on wheels.
Once when I was on a radio talk show I began exchanging driveway memories with callers. An older man reminisced about helping his dad work on Buicks in the driveway. The two of them had their most significant conversations between “pass me the wrench” and “OK, give it some gas.” Somehow it’s easier to talk about touchy subjects like the “birds and bees” when you’re busy working at the same time. (Sort of like the kind of conversation moms and daughters used to have drying dishes together before dishwashers.)
Our photo albums are peppered with various driveway good-bye scenes. I imagine myself wearing a college sweatshirt and waving a pompon or two as each of my boys left for college for the first time, but the photos seem to show I was in a bathrobe with a bit of pancake batter smeared down the front. Look closely enough and you can also see the tracks of my tears. Those were wrenching good-byes.
The photos of my married sons on my desk now were both taken in driveways. In each one, a grinning young man is accompanied by his smiling bride as, vehicles packed, the newlyweds prepare to drive away together. “Bye, Mom!” they seem to say. “We’re off!”
Not everything that happens in the driveway is worth remembering. I once had a wreck in mine. As I was ready to pull out on my way to work, a car rolled down a steep driveway across the street from us. By the time I realized there wasn’t a driver inside, it was too late to get out of the way, and the runaway car smashed right into mine. “You aren’t going to believe this,” I said to my husband as he emerged from his shower moments later. “I just had a wreck, and I never left the driveway.”
Bringing new babies home, posing for prom pictures, visiting with neighbors…all of life can be lived out in the driveway. Proceed with caution.
As always, you evoke in me wonderful memories and smiles in your meanderings. Thank you Nancy!!!
Thanks, Lea Ann!
great story–brings back many memories of sitting in the driveway with or without a car–lingering just a bit longer -it seems. thanks for the memories Bernice
My pleasure, Bernice. Lots more stories come to mind.
Good one, Nancy! That brought back lots of memories. We had an extra long driveway…made of oyster shells, They were so sharp to walk on until they were broken down…also had a memorable smell! Good ole’ Louisiana!
I can just feel that on my bare feet! Maybe that’s your problem now! 🙂
Great subject. Well told!
Thanks, Mike. Hope you have a neat driveway at your new digs!
My best memory of our driveway was the year I decided to get a driver’s license, long after my dad, my brother, and finally my husband tried to teach me how to drive. That year, when my husband was ready to go deer hunting in Michigan’s upper peninsula, I said,”I’ll have my license when you get back.” He returned. Saw the car in the garage and said, “You didn’t even take the car out, did you.” “Go look at the garage,” I told him. He and his friend never let me forget I had moved the door opening three feet to the right.
That’s hilarious, Betty. There are some driving mishaps in my history, too! Some best forgotten!
Beautifully put as always
Thanks, dear.
Oh My!! This brought back good memories!
Thanks for the reminder of good things.
Sharon
You’re so welcome, Sharon!
Beautiful, Nancy. And such vivid reminders, from the flashing porch light to the runaway car wreck (our neighbor had that happen when a driverless car careened into his car parked in the driveway!) Thanks for the memories!
You bet. Thanks for connecting with them!
You have mastered capturing the stuff of everyday life with which we all can identify! I.giggled out loud at “Bringing in the Sheaves”!!!
Alice, it’s a lot funnier now than it was then, I guarantee you! Definitely worked to get us in the house though!
One evening several years ago, we heard a loud crash in front of our house . I opened the front door and there was our neighbor’s car on our front porch among a pile of bricks from one of the pillars! The car rolled down the street (without a driver), made a turn up our driveway and onto the porch . The owner was just as shocked as I was (and so was my husband who was IN the shower on the second story right above the porch!)
Oh yes, driveway memories are good! My memory is pulling into mother and daddy’s driveway in their 60’s Rambler. It was a white push-button Rambler…I remember it well. I jumped out of the car and raced into the living room to share something with my sister and as she and I were giggling we each noticed that something out in the drive-way didn’t look right. The car wasn’t there! We ran out the door and low and behold it was across the street in our neighbor’s front porch, over the street and up into a yard then through wrought iron and all. I ran across the street and Mrs. Crawford was coming to the front door to see what had happened and there I was. (Nancy, Mrs. Crawford was Tommy, Jimmy and Frank’s mother). I had failed to “push” the “park” button obviously. I will never forget that one! Wonder why “sister” wasn’t beside me!
Oh dear, Suzanne. My sisters and I had some of those same types of driving incidents. Funnier now than they were then! Take care.
I’m a little late reading this, Nancy, but it is one of my favorites. I’ll look at all driveways a little differently from now on. When you write about school day memories, I am always touched and filled with more memories of my own. I can’t remember who Harold was, but I’m so glad you touch on those years so long ago when we were classmates.
Thanks, Deborah. I appreciate your kind thoughts…and kindred spirit!