Entering the 21st Century
All right, so I've failed to accomplish the most basic skills that most people take for granted, in finding within myself no interest whatever in learning to drive a car.
Not that I haven't had ample opportunity, and even the encouragement that my husband has given me. I simply cannot muster any enthusiasm for it. Never have. Away back when we were both young, not all that long married, he tried himself to teach me to drive our modest family car. One lesson sufficed.
Then, a mere six years ago, when I was, now let's see, about 65, I decided it was time. I took the requisite provincial tests, received a temporary license, and set out to learn. Enrolling myself in a driving school. And there was I, attending class after class full of confident young secondary-age boys and girls.
Oh yes, there was one other individual in the class, a woman of 40, who said she had gone through this once before, but let it lapse. This time...
The classroom teaching done with, there were the actual driving lessons, and I felt relaxed and comfortable enough, driving instructor beside me, learning to drive in all kinds of road conditions, rain and snow; parallel parking, turning, you name it. He gave me a pass, congratulated me, insisted that I continue to practise and I'd be just fine; he had great confidence in my ability.
As did my husband who professed surprise at my progress, the way I handled the car with confidence, the manner in which I'd taken to the process.
Today I came across one of our neighbours who lives next door, shopping at the supermarket. We see one another often, but hers is a sunny, bright personality and she greeted me as though I were her long-lost and treasured friend - as she always does.
Had I driven over myself, she asked brightly? Not a chance, I responded. Not driving? Nope. No interest. Gave it up. Pity, said she, she wouldn't know what to do without being able to drive. She values the independence it allows her. Although, she had confided on an earlier occasion, her husband would not permit her to drive outside the community.
Which was no bother to her; she professed to having no interest in doing so. And then she informed me proudly, that she had finally "joined the 21st Century". She was now allowed to go on the Internet. Her words. And was learning how to download and attach and send along photographs in emails.
Mostly to another of our neighbours who in fact got me interested years ago poking about at eBay offerings; instructed me in setting up an account and in the niceties involved in bidding and winning, and leaving little plaudits of appreciation. Oh, said I, now you'll be able to do your own bidding on eBay. For this same neighbour collaborated with her to enable her to make eBay purchases.
No, she said, her privileges would be revoked. She was warned by her husband that while she could navigate around the Internet to satisfy her curiosity, she was not permitted to open an account anywhere. For if she did, that would be the end of her Internet experiences. However, she doesn't at all mind, she declared. Using our mutual neighbour as an ongoing intermediary would save her from the dread disease of bidding compulsion.
Perhaps under other circumstances I would ask her gently how it is that a woman approaching fifty years of age finds it acceptable that her husband is adamant about controlling what she does. But I did not, and likely never will. Why upset her applecart?
Not that I haven't had ample opportunity, and even the encouragement that my husband has given me. I simply cannot muster any enthusiasm for it. Never have. Away back when we were both young, not all that long married, he tried himself to teach me to drive our modest family car. One lesson sufficed.
Then, a mere six years ago, when I was, now let's see, about 65, I decided it was time. I took the requisite provincial tests, received a temporary license, and set out to learn. Enrolling myself in a driving school. And there was I, attending class after class full of confident young secondary-age boys and girls.
Oh yes, there was one other individual in the class, a woman of 40, who said she had gone through this once before, but let it lapse. This time...
The classroom teaching done with, there were the actual driving lessons, and I felt relaxed and comfortable enough, driving instructor beside me, learning to drive in all kinds of road conditions, rain and snow; parallel parking, turning, you name it. He gave me a pass, congratulated me, insisted that I continue to practise and I'd be just fine; he had great confidence in my ability.
As did my husband who professed surprise at my progress, the way I handled the car with confidence, the manner in which I'd taken to the process.
Today I came across one of our neighbours who lives next door, shopping at the supermarket. We see one another often, but hers is a sunny, bright personality and she greeted me as though I were her long-lost and treasured friend - as she always does.
Had I driven over myself, she asked brightly? Not a chance, I responded. Not driving? Nope. No interest. Gave it up. Pity, said she, she wouldn't know what to do without being able to drive. She values the independence it allows her. Although, she had confided on an earlier occasion, her husband would not permit her to drive outside the community.
Which was no bother to her; she professed to having no interest in doing so. And then she informed me proudly, that she had finally "joined the 21st Century". She was now allowed to go on the Internet. Her words. And was learning how to download and attach and send along photographs in emails.
Mostly to another of our neighbours who in fact got me interested years ago poking about at eBay offerings; instructed me in setting up an account and in the niceties involved in bidding and winning, and leaving little plaudits of appreciation. Oh, said I, now you'll be able to do your own bidding on eBay. For this same neighbour collaborated with her to enable her to make eBay purchases.
No, she said, her privileges would be revoked. She was warned by her husband that while she could navigate around the Internet to satisfy her curiosity, she was not permitted to open an account anywhere. For if she did, that would be the end of her Internet experiences. However, she doesn't at all mind, she declared. Using our mutual neighbour as an ongoing intermediary would save her from the dread disease of bidding compulsion.
Perhaps under other circumstances I would ask her gently how it is that a woman approaching fifty years of age finds it acceptable that her husband is adamant about controlling what she does. But I did not, and likely never will. Why upset her applecart?
Labels: Social-Cultural Deviations
posted by Pieface @ 5:09 PM
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