The Wild Bronco

“Austin can buy the car from us if he would like to,” Mr. Smith told my Dad. Mr. Smith was a family friend, and he had a 1998 Acura Integra. The car was silver and in perfect condition. Best of all, it was a 5-speed stick.

After buying the car, I couldn’t wait to drive it. I was 17 and already had my license. The only thing that I had left to do was to learn to drive a stick shift. No problem.

“Let the clutch up until you feel it catch, then give it some gas and let the clutch up the rest of the way,” Dad said to me from the passenger seat. I prepared to do as he said. As soon as I felt the clutch grab, I let the clutch out. The car promptly stalled.

“Don’t be afraid to give it some more gas,” Dad said.

Okay, if you say so. This time when I felt the clutch grab, I quickly let up the clutch and gave the engine a lot of gas. The car lurched forward, bucking like a wild bronco.

“Let’s try that again,” Dad said. And try again we did. And again. And again. For several months, I tried to pull forward without infuriating the wild bronco that was stuck in my car. I got impatient and Dad got whiplash. After these months had passed, Dad asked me to tell him exactly what I was doing. I described to him what I was doing—what I thought he had told me to do.

“No, no, no,” Dad said. “When you feel the clutch grab, don’t immediately let it up. Start giving it more gas, but let the clutch up in a controlled manner.”

Oh. That makes sense. I tried to picture myself doing what he had just described rather than the bronco-inducing maneuver that I had been doing for months. With bated breath, I carefully let the clutch up. I felt it grab and focused on letting it up slowly and steadily, giving it a little bit of gas as I did so.

The car pulled forward.

Gracefully.

I had tamed the bronco.