Nov 23, 2015 3 min read

I thought when my oldest daughter acquired a driver’s license it would lighten my load, and to some extent it has. Kids missed the bus? She can drive them. Youth group is tonight? She can drive herself. It is a benefit more often than not.

However, something I failed to consider was we still have only one car. Sure, we have several farm trucks, but I am not comfortable taking them everywhere I need to go, and she can’t drive either of them.

Please understand I am capable of driving a standard. I have done it for years, both on- and off-road for various farm-related reasons. I hauled hay, pulled equipment and brought home feed.

I am capable, just not particularly comfortable. Last week, however, I opted to take one of our trucks to church for choir practice because the oldest needed to be at the high school at the same time and she had my car.

Generally speaking, choir starts at 6:30 p.m., and this time of year that means it is already dark. I hadn’t factored that in when I agreed to this plan, but I gave my word and was therefore committed.

So, I familiarized myself with the location of the headlights and turn signals. Then, I looked at the gear shift. The gear pattern is a common one, with first gear up and to the left and reverse to the far right and down, but it is completely different from the shift pattern in our other farm truck – the truck I am most comfortable driving, which was truck hooked to a gooseneck trailer in preparation for a delivery the next day and therefore not an option.

Determinedly, I started down the driveway. I pulled onto the road and began to relax. I shifted into second and my anxiety began to melt. But as I reached to shift to third, the top of the gear shift came off in my hand. The ball-shaped part with the numbers on it became separated from the rest of the gear shift.

Code panic.

All attempts to shift into third while guessing where it was and holding the top of the shifter resulted in a horrific metal on metal grinding sound in the gear box (or whatever it is called as my mechanical knowledge is more limited than my driving abilities).

Fortunately, the truck steers like a dream and I was able to maintain my side of the road while desperately trying to jam the shifter back together. Finally, I found third and was able to motor. Almost immediately, the check engine light turned on and I found myself panicking again. But I was almost to the church, so I continued on my way before calling my husband.

He was fully aware both things might happen, and wasn’t worried in the slightest. He said he knew I could handle it and had absolute faith in me. This was one time I wish he hadn’t trusted me quite so much, but all is well that ends well, I guess.

Next time, I will glue that stick shift back together.