I can’t drive a stick
File under: Measures of Manhood
If one were to ask me how it happened — how exactly I came to arrive at this point in my life having never experienced this fundamental rite of passage — I wouldn’t be able to pin it down. One might logically attribute this developmental lapse to a basic lack of opportunity, but that wouldn’t be entirely accurate. It wasn’t exactly a major topic of conversation in my household. In fact, I cannot recall an instance in which either of my parents raised the subject with me directly. Thus when the inevitable point arrived at which my peers made known their own interest in the matter, I assigned it little importance and remained casually aloof.
It is obviously a skill one can’t accomplish on their own. One can certainly visualize it and even, in a sense, rehearse the motions. But in order to actually put it into practice, one must have an associate — someone with the compassion and willingness to demonstrate the ropes, as well as risk wear and tear to their own valuable equipment. While I may not have enjoyed the same unfettered access to these resources as some of my peers, I wasn’t necessarily isolated from them either. There were opportunities, but as strange as it sounds in the case of a teenaged boy, when those opportunities presented I had other priorities in mind. High school is a confusing and distracting time in a young person’s life. I was a diligent student and a marginal, but dedicated athlete. As a social animal, I wasn’t noteworthy nor was I an outcast — but I had goals and aspirations with which I kept myself occupied, dedicating little in the way of time and effort to mundane pursuits such as driving.
I withstood my high school tenure relatively unhindered by my lack of experience; however, upon leaving for college I began to develop a sense of self-doubt and found it more convenient to feign knowledge of the subject matter rather than admit my shortcoming. Thankfully, I was never called upon to demonstrate my skills, or lack thereof, and passed into early adulthood having successfully avoided the embarrassment of discovery.
In the years since, what once felt like a significant deficiency has faded into a minor annoyance. It occurred to me that I could probably pay someone to teach me. But this would require that I conceal my inexperience in order to rent the necessary equipment, which has ethical and potentially legal ramifications should something go awry.
Instead, I choose to wear this unique aspect of my character as a sort of badge of honor, knowing full well that others will find it amusing, but also perhaps endearing. As I enter my 38th year, I can say with confidence that I am not ashamed to be a (nearly) 40-year-old virgin — of manual transmissions.
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