Drivers' Ed

Driver’s Education may be one of the most undervalued educational ‘seminars’ that a person ever attends.

After all, its based on the completion of this course, at the ripe old age of 15’ish, that you are given permission to operate a combustible piece of machinery that uses fuel & fire to move from point a to point b.

Driver’s Ed experiences come in all shapes and sizes.

Some, like Corey Haim’s, include a militant Carl Winslow & cup of coffee (greatness of License to Drive).

Others, like my precious wife’s, include a sequel. (Scoreboard me for passing it the first time.)

My own Driver’s Ed experience is, well, unforgettable.

In Sweetwater (the center of the universe), Driver’s Ed is taught in school—as a separate course. I took it when I was 15. My instructor was the GREAT Dennis Mosely.

Mr. Mosely was the Geometry teacher, known for his paper football (equilateral triangle) tournaments, his western wit (“I was born under a mesquite bush at mile marker 501 in Pecos, TX”) and his EXTREMELY sweaty armpits (rhombus-like yellow stains that we presumed were caused by staring at hot high schoolers all day).

The Mosely was definitely a fan favorite. Me being the fan of course.

When I think back over my time with Mosely, three things stand out:

1) The 6:00 AM shift. After taking the written test, we were sent out with Mosely on to the streets. I, being the morning person I am, signed up for the first shift—the 6:00am shift. I suppose this time is normally spent practicing parallel parking, 10 and 2 and the use of the blinker. Not me. Mosely & I grabbed some donuts (from Doris’ Sweet Shop) and then went out to his land so that I could feed his cow, Norman. One cow. Norman. I named it (City Slickers is brilliant). The thing about was… well… I wasn’t driving. Sure, I drove out South of town where Norman resided. And yes, I drove around many cow chips to get to Norman. But then, for a couple of hours, I just hung out with Norman… and Mosely.

2) The fight. Our Driver’s Ed class was a Who’s Who for our high school. You had athletes (the GREAT Robert Reed, aka short Manute Bol), cheerleaders (hey now), brains (Curtis Cecil) and guys like myself, who mostly identified with, well, David Spade (as previously noted). With all of these personalities, some had to clash. And two did. That’s when I witnessed the one of the top three fights of all time. This one is actually number 2 on my list. Curtis Cecil and the effeminately named Courtney (dude).

Curtis Cecil ran in my crew. He was a brain. He was an athlete. He was a choir boy. He was a Renaissance Man, which is why he ran in my crew.

His challenger is this fight was Courtney, the she-named. Courtney was as bland as they come… Kind of hung out with the skaters, only because of a dysfunctional family tie to them.

Three years prior, Curtis Cecil broke it off with a lady he was seeing at the time. Courtney was said lady’s rebound. There had been animosity between the two since (that was 1995). Since we all shared a Driver’s Ed room together, it all came to a head.

They met at the creek—a location between their homes. Curtis Cecil had plenty of support from our crew, and Ven Diagram friends to assist in the event that Courtney’s skater bunch intervened.

Courtney showed up with a D Battery in hand, intended to use it on Curtis Cecil.

That’s not what happened. In fact, what happened was that Curtis Cecil pounded the she-named Courtney so hard with his right hand that he broke a metacarpal. Scoreboard, Curtis Cecil.

3) The Old Man & the trailer. Like I said earlier, I had the 6:00am shift. But I didn’t visit Norman every day. There were times in which other visits had to be made—like the Old Man & the trailer. One morning, Mosely & I were cruising along. He was giving me directions (Left, Right, Right, Right, Left, etc). and I was following suit. I soon noticed that we were in a shady part of the ‘Water. There were houses with no doors… cars with no windshields… and, most importantly, a mysteriously trailer. That’s when Mosely said, “Right about here’s good.” To him that meant “Stop.” So I did. And he got out. I locked the doors as he walked to the front. He pounded on the front door of the trailer. Nothing. I prayed. Nothing. He pounded again. I could see from a car that the small window on the front of the trailer was now cracked. Eyes peered out. Old eyes. Then the window raised a bit more. Very confusingly, an arm stretched out from the window (an old arm) and unlocked a pad lock on THE FRONT of the door. As it opened, I could see the oldest man I had ever laid my eyes on standing in the doorway. He looked like a mummy in an A-shirt and very (VERY) used briefs. Mosely went inside. The door shut. I sat in the car. I don’t know what happened—but it was probably 15 minutes before Mosely emerged. He locked the pad lock (awfully generous) and gave the door a pat. Then he got in the car and we left. He was smiling just as much afterwards as before. I still have no idea what happened in there—or why the mummy chose to lock his door from the outside, seems inefficient-and probably never will.

Like I said—everyone has their own Driver’s Ed story. Yes, mine is a tad bit demented, very curious, and possibly fake. But, then again, that’s how I prefer my soup to be served.