My wife says this one reminds her of when our son was learning to drive.
My dad was very patient with me. I learned on an automatic transmission, and later learned the stick shift.
Our only child learned quickly, on a automatic. I am not old school, I beleive the mysteries, of easing out the clutch without killing the engine, are best mastered after learning to steer and bake. Such skills might improve the survival chances of the instructor, namely: me!
I took the boy out to quiet streets and let him practice. He managed to roll along without burning out my clutch. I was proud of my calm, coolness, and gentleness of voice.
The boy struggled with it but we both survived.
A couple nights later we went out again. The kid got it and drove around shifting and popping the clutch like a pro. I beamed with pride, I actually taught my son something.
Or so I thought, for years.
Then my son overheard me bragging to a friend of what a good driving coach I was.
“I didn’t want to hurt your feelings,” said my son, “but Uncle Steve took me out and showed me how to shift, then it was easy.”
I felt like someone had slammed a boulder into my gut.
Sometimes the truth hurts. Next time son, keep it to your self.