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Learning to drive is a rite of passage. It signifies a person is not a child anymore and is headed straight to adulthood.

Most everyone has some sort of story about learning to drive, filled with humor and horror concurrently.

During the summer of 1982, I took driver's education for three weeks at Page High School.

I was assigned to start with the driving range behind the school.

An instructor with a microphone gave us instructions as we drove.

Once, when it was my turn, the instructor yelled through the microphone that I did something wrong. I got flustered, lost my focus and kept driving forward, straight toward him.

"Watch out for me!" he yelled. Refocused, I turned the steering wheel in time to miss plowing him over. I am sure the other students in my car learned a valuable lesson at my expense: Do not run over the driving instructor.

I have seen this instructor a few times around town since then but haven't had the nerve to introduce myself. I am sure I was not the only one that almost ran him down.

After an hour on the driving range, the group from my car was supposed to find our road instructor to go out on the road. I became separated from my group. I also could not find the man I was supposed to drive with.

I heard someone yelling out my name. He appeared 10 feet tall as I sheepishly walked in his direction.

My driving buddies were already seated, in the back seat where I would have liked to have been. The instructor told me since I was last to the car, I would be first on the road. "Oh, joy," I thought.

John Mellencamp's "Jack and Diane" was playing when the instructor turned on the radio. That song played many times during the three weeks of driver's education, and even now, it takes me back to those days.

Apparently, I was not doing something right because the instructor gave me most of the hour to perfect my right-hand turns. With his big, booming voice he told me what I did wrong and gave me a look that seemed to question if I had a brain. Again and again, I was told to turn right as we went around and around what was then 16th Street Baptist Church.

The students in the back seat just stared out the window, probably thankful they were not in my shoes.

Finally, after 45 minutes, my turn was over. The other students only had five minutes to master the right-hand turn. I told myself they had learned from my mistakes.

I was a walking textbook of what not to do, apparently.

Three weeks later, I passed driver's education. With my driver's education certificate, I was able to obtain a state of North Carolina Driving Permit. Laws were different then, so when I turned 16 three months later, I was able to get my driver's license with ease.

Being told by the state of North Carolina that they trusted me to drive on the roads and highways did not, in my house, translate to being able to drive solo.

I had to also pass the "James C. Holt (my daddy) School of Driving," too. Patient and full of humor, he taught me things I had not learned in driver's education. He wanted to make sure I would be a good, safe driver.

I never cared as much about driving solo as many of my friends did. I drove with my parents when I could, but I didn't have a great desire to move beyond that.

I had a driver's license, and that was good enough for me.

I took my first solo trip about a year and a half after being a licensed driver, when my mom wanted me to run an errand for her. My dad relented and allowed me out on the streets in the family car alone. I had finally passed my daddy's school of driving.

I am now the mother of two teenagers. My 17-year-old daughter has had her driving permit for a while. She got a job last summer to save for the unreal amount of money we will have to pay for insurance because she is considered a "young driver." She is ready to get her driver's license as soon as I take her to the DMV to be tested.

My 15-year-old son is taking his driver's education class with fellow home-schoolers in Kernersville. He is excited about learning to drive so he, too, can get his permit.

(I could easily insert a joke here about how my kids are "driving" me crazy, but that would be too easy.)

Like my father before me, I need to be convinced that my teenagers are ready for all they may face out on the road.

It's amazing watching my teenagers go through this season of their lives.

It seems like just yesterday that I was smack dab in the middle of it myself.

One thing that hasn't changed through the years is how many times people will joke, "Let me know when you are out on the road so I can stay off of it."

I imagine that joke is about as old as driving itself and will remain around as long as future generations drive cars.

One thing is for sure, everyone has their own driver's education story.

Everyone who has lived to tell it, anyway.

Linda Vestal is a wife, mother, daughter, sister and friend living in Gibsonville. Contact her with comments or story ideas at lindavestal@triad.rr.com.