Driver's Ed's Ed

The children always drove too slowly when he took them out for road training. Within moments of leaving the high school parking lot, a line of cars would inevitably be stacked behind them, though never once would you hear any of them honking in frustration. The enormous signs plastered onto every surface of the vehicle spoke of the patient schooling in progress, the triangular cap atop of the car revealed the dunce behind the wheel. (Still, even after all of our compassionate societal advances.) And the motorists understood, although Ed was not eager to test their patience, and always ordered the student to take the first turn available.

They always signaled, well in advance of any turn. The posted speed limit was obeyed down to nearly microscopic levels. The students tried so hard not to point out their excellent driving behavior to him, their faces were equal part overabundant confidence and meek confusion, and he picked up on it almost before they even thought to broadcast the feeling. They ached for his approval, for any sign that they were not only passing completely, they were the best novice driver he had ever seen. Because of this, most lessons swayed along with an infuriating grace.

The course he had taken in order to be authorized to teach driving courses were many weeks shorter than what the students were legally mandated by the state to sit through. He thought he might enlighten the class to this irony the day before he quit, if that ever happened.

He was usually quiet during the driving lessons, and made every attempt to be amiable and comforting. There were days when he wanted to start talking and never stop, crack their heads open and pick at every bit of knowledge there. There were days where he wasn't even paying attention to the student's driving performance, thinking instead of his personal budget for that month, or that he, in fact, could not conceive of a single thing that his mother actually wanted for her birthday and hmmm...how old was she now?

He didn't dare look at any of the girls for anything more than a moment, lest any subtle, unknowing action of his be misconstrued as perverted the next day during lunch. Being a driver's ed teacher assigned a fair amount of vague creepiness to one's manner already, and it was a constant battle to dispel it enough to make the student feel comfortable.

Sometimes he would look down at his stomach, examining a girth that seemed to expand in leaps. If he was feeling particularly loose or comfortable with a student (it happened), then he would pat it and make a joke about how, yes, action must be taken against this threat. And soon.

The main thing, besides teaching them to drive, was to make the student comfortable. He had realized this after only a few months on the job. The more at ease they were then the better they drove and the better they absorbed instruction. He hated having to fail any of them. Angry phone calls from a parent always followed right after.

Before taking the position, years ago, he thought that perhaps this was the perfect occupation for him. That he could be a positively subversive element in these kids' lives, a motivational force mostly overlooked by the usual educational circles, but still as present and effective. He would introduce these children to new music, new ideas, and their learner's permit. Whether they wanted to pick any of these things up was their decision, but at least they would be exposed to it.

The students were less than receptive, and it made them unfocused and uncomfortable. The idea...the very drive behind why he became a driver's ed teacher (aside from needing a steady paycheck)...got real old, real fast.

Similiarly, so had he.