I missed the beginning of school that morning. My appointment was scheduled for 8 a.m., the first of the day. I was too nervous to drive to the Armory. I was afraid I would be late. For an entire week butterflies were tap-dancing in my stomach, but that morning my stomach was clearly doing somersaults.

As my father drove I stared out the window, the scenery blurred and irrelevant. I was practicing my ideal three-point turn over and over in my head. I remember the car smelled of mountain berries - my mother had placed a new clip on the visor.

Soon enough, my dad and I pulled in front of the large stone building and carefully pulled up the emergency brake. I opened the passenger side door and smoothed my sweater and khaki pants. Did I look responsible?

After completing the standard paperwork, the policeman sent me outside with the following instructions: slide the passenger seat all the way back and ask your father to sit in the backseat. After what seemed like hours, a very tall, white-halred man with strong arms and a stern but kind face opened the door. "Meaghan?" I smiled timidly.

The man climbed into my black Jeep, fastened his seatbelt and told me to turn on my blinker. He instructed me to pull slowly into the street. I complied, but not before my father piped up from the backseat to remind me to release the parking brake.

The remainder of my test went smoothly, to my relief. I simply had to drive around the block, stop at a stop sign, and execute a three-point turn (which I completed perfectly) and back up in a straight line.

I pulled back up to the parking spot. Did I go too fast down the side street? Did I wait long enough at the stop sign? Was my reverse horrible? Did I park badly?

"It was a pleasure driving with you. You are one of the best drivers I've seen. Congratulations, you've earned your driver's license."

Hallelujah! c