Automatic

With the exception of two particular times of specified length, I have driven a manual transmission car. That means a car with a stick. Those two exceptions were driver's ed and my parents van.

The very first car I learned to drive was a stick. My parents' truck was a 3-speed on-the-column truck. Every car I have ever owned has been a stick.

Until now.

Circumstances dictated that we trade our beloved Mazda with 196,000+ miles on it in for something with lower mileage and something that was cheaper to pay off than the repair bill on the Mazda would have been. So we bought a used car. It's an automatic.

Shortly after arriving at the new parish, the vestry decided to help me out by having the parish purchase a vehicle for me. I was given a not-to-exceed amount and told to go find something decent. In essence, it's a company car. I found a 2009 Honda Accord with right around 10,000 miles on it within the allowed budget. It too is an automatic.

I've been doing pretty good with both of them. My hand still falls to the gear shift every now and then, but I haven't ever done IT. Until yesterday.

Yesterday, as I was driving home, something caught my attention and my body reacted the way it has for basically all of my 30-years of driving . . . the clutch foot reached for the pedal. Unfortunately, the only pedal to be found was the brake. Thank God for seat belts.

I went home saying, "Repeat after me: It's an automatic . . . it's an automatic . . . it's an automatic."