My mom is that Asian woman driver.
My mom grew up in the Philippines, and if you’ve ever visited the country, you’d know that there are no driving rules. While on a trip to the Philippines a few years ago, I was the passenger while my uncle drove a 1960’s sky-blue Volkswagen Bug through crazy Manila traffic. Evidently, the horn in that country is just as important as the gas pedal and brake; my uncle kept one hand on the steering wheel and the other on the horn.
The horn is used to communicate the following:
- I’m cutting in front of you right now.
- You better not break my stride by stepping into that crosswalk.
- I’m creating my own lane now.
My mom learned to drive in a cemetery because my grandfather figured if she hit anyone, it wouldn’t matter because the person was already dead.
I spent my childhood in a typical track home in suburban Orange County, California. My mom would back the car out of the driveway, and even though there was only one other car on the street 10 houses down, she would exclaim, “What’s with all the traffic?!”
It didn’t matter if we were just going to the grocery store, five blocks away; being a hardcore Catholic, my mom would perform a driving mass right before backing out of the driveway:
Mom: St. Christopher…
Me and my brothers: pray for us.
Mom: St. Christopher…
Me and my brothers: pray for us.
Mom: St. Christopher…
Me and my brothers: pray for us.
In all seriousness, my mom is really just a slow (kind of nervous) driver. I know that my pre-schooler would get to school safely if my mom drove her….she might get there in three days, but she will eventually get there.