Last Friday (November 13) was an important day in history.

On November 13, 1775,  American Revolutionary forces led by General Richard Montgomery defeated the British at Montreal.

On November 13, 1931, Hattie Caraway became the first woman appointed to the United States Senate.

On November 13, 1956, the Supreme Court outlawed racial segregation on public buses.

On November 13, 1979, Ronald Reagan announced his candidacy for the presidency.

And on November 13, 2009, I finally became a licensed driver.

Remember when I wrote about what I thought my senior year of high school was going to be like? The fact that I was going to have a driver’s license was on that list of maxims. In retrospect, though, that wasn’t really a critical part of my senior year fantasy because I always figured my suave Sir Senior with a ‘Stang would be at my beck and call to sweep me away if ever I needed to be swept.

Now, with license in wallet and a little blue Volvo to drive in place of a ‘Stang, I’m glad to say no sweeping is necessary. I’m aware of the responsibilities I bear as a licensed driver, but I really do appreciate the independence and possibility that come along with my little, holographic piece of plastic plastered with my face.  

I used to be somewhat afraid of driving, seeing as how I never had a promising history of operating vehicles. I blame it on the fact that my parents never bought me a Power Wheels Barbie Jeep when I was a child.

I learned how to ride a bike during the summer after I turned 6. Then, of course, I didn’t ride my bike at all during the following winter, so I forgot how to ride a bike. And when I tried to ride my bike the next spring, I ended up crashing into the evergreen in our front yard and then into the back of our old Volvo. The tree escaped unscathed. I wish I could say the same for the car, which suffered significant injuries to its posterior and had to undergo a taillight replacement procedure.

After I became secure in my bike-riding abilities, I took them out on the road. That’s when I discovered I had a bit of an issue with tailgating. Well, it wasn’t much of an issue until one day, while out riding, my sister and I ended up toppled one on top of the other on the side of the road by our house. My front tire had clipped her back one and sent us sailing. Needless to say, my sister doesn’t ride her bike with me much anymore.

Then I graduated to the engine-powered big rigs. I drove a snow mobile (with help from my then-25-year-old cousin) for the first time during a family vacation in Vermont. I took a corner a little too fast and we both ended up airborne.

And let’s not forget about the riding lawnmowers. Mowing went well until I ran over a half dead, but branch-heavy shrub next to our barn. Sparks started flying out from the undercarriage and I may or may not have jumped off the lawnmower.

And so, you can understand, when I started driving at the end of my sophomore year, neither my parents nor I had much confidence in my ability to safely pull a Radio Flyer around our yard without hurting someone or something else or myself, never mind safely operate a motor vehicle on a road.

With other motor vehicles.

And people inside of those motor vehicles.

But aside from one or two close encounters with a telephone pole in my early days of mobility, driving has pretty much been smooth sailing (to use a mixed metaphor) since then. Or at least smooth enough to walk away from a driver’s test scheduled on Friday the Thirteenth with a 100% DMV certified Class D Non-Commercial Driver’s License.  

A pretty secure victory, I think. But hey, what can I say? I drive a Volvo.