While in graduate school at Western Michigan University in Kalamazoo, Michigan, I saw a notice in huge letters, posted on the bulletin board that drew my attention. The State of Michigan was running short of qualified Driver Education instructors for the coming summer.

“Free”, Two-week Driver Education Certification Course offered at Michigan State University.

Housing and meals included.

It gave the following details: “The two-week course consisted of 12 weekdays of classroom work, as well as “hands on training.” I knew that driver education teachers were well paid and my driver-ed teaching certificate would ultimately provide me with some much needed extra summer income beyond my regular teaching salary.

I signed up, of course! On the specified day I kissed my kids goodbye and explained that “daddy had to go to school to learn something new so that he could pay all of the bills.”

For the next two weeks, I was overwhelmed with driver-ed materials: Driver Education law, traffic theory, automobile mechanics, etc., etc., etc. The fun part was that in the afternoon we would actually go out with a couple of students and “practice” driving. All of our cars had a dual set of brakes, but no center console, leaving the foot area free to hit the students brake; or if needed, kick their foot off the accelerator.

At the outset, let me caution anyone interested in teaching driver-ed, “This is not for the faint of heart.”

In fact, “you’re putting your life in your student’s hands.” Your reaction time has to be “off the charts” literally, your life depends on it.

I had learned to drive on a muck farm when I was almost twelve years old. In 1947 we moved from The Netherlands to the U.S. Due to weight restrictions on the boat, we had to leave most of our possessions, including our bicycles, behind. Dad, a pastor in the Netherlands Reformed Church, was paid by donations deposited by the church members in small collection boxes labeled “For the Minister” at the exits of the sanctuary. The income from the church was not very high, barely paying for food and living expenses for my parents and eight children.

I really missed my bike. It had been my connection to the outside world. However, the only way that I could get a new bike was to get a job and earn some money.

Dad checked with his parishioners and one of them owned a muck farm (land that was originally a lake bottom), providing very rich soil for growing vegetables and flowers. The crops were sold at the local markets.

He offered me a job weeding, harvesting vegetables and doing general chores. He possessed a rickety, old Ford pick-up truck, which he used on the farm and also used to bring his wares to the Farmers Markets.

It was hard work in the burning sun, but it was my only route towards obtaining my “wheels.”

The farm was about a 45-minute walk from my house. In the morning, when I was well rested, my boss would pick me up; but in the evening, after 5 p.m. when I was done with my day’s work, and tired, I had to walk back to my house. I had heard about labor unions and thought about starting one and filing a protest, but then I learned that you need a lot of people to do that, and I was just a workforce of one.

Every day, as I walked home, tired and sweaty, grumbling about my mean boss, I envisioned what it would be like in the future to ride my new, shiny Schwinn bike to work. It became a great motivator and kept me weeding and walking. By the end of the summer I had saved up enough money ($40.00) to make my dream come true. A life lesson learned.

 My boss also taught me how to drive (just on the farm, of course). It was a skill that even now, 74 years and a zillion miles later, I still enjoy.

I didn’t go back to the muck farm the following summer because with my new bike I was able to pick up a paper route instead. I now had wheels, and I had learned how to drive.  At age 15, I obtained my Drivers Learning Permit. At age 16 I passed my driver-ed test with flying colors, and at age 17 I purchased my first car, a 1941 Plymouth Business Coupe.

Now, many years later, I was actually going to be licensed to teach kids and adults how to drive. That’s Progress.

EDITOR’S NOTE: Gerrit Lamain is a former Copper Country resident who served as a music professor at Suomi College. He has published a book, “Gerrit’s Notes: A compilation of essays,” which can be found on Amazon. His email address is gerrit.lamain@gmail.com.