Poet  and writer Margaret Cunningham, a native of Thunder Bay who now lives in Ottawa, tells the story of how she finally got her driver's licence back.

Margaret R. Cunningham reads from her book of poetry "Slide and Soar."

RESURRECTION

by Margaret R. Cunningham

Success on the Seventh try

The reader needs to know that I did, in the end, pass the Driving test on my seventh try. After my 6^thfailure in Arnprior, I was rather hesitant to try again. I asked my favourite Blue Line Taxi Driver if he knew a good instructor. He suggested a lady at Narisses’ Driving School who had taught his wife after her second failure. When I phoned her and told her my sad tale, she told me to call Larry’s taxi because “they are the experts.” 

And indeed, they were.

Brian Dunleavy was the instructor’s name. He was originally from Northern Ireland. After spending some time in England, his family moved to Canada. Brian said that because they were Irish and Catholic, they were not welcome in England.  

He was a Cognitive and Defensive Driving Instructor. He said that he would give me an assessment first to see if I had the potential to pass. I believe that he charged $125.00 for this and $85 for the lessons afterwards. I agreed. What were a few more dollars?  And it could be that I just might pass this time. Fortunately, he decided that I was teachable. Perhaps it was because of our shared heritage or some other reason. All I cared about was that I had been accepted.

He was calm, pleasant and straight forward. A natural teacher. Both his parents, I discovered, had been teachers. His favorite expression was “jolly hockey sticks,” when I made the right move. With every “jolly hockey sticks,” my confidence grew. He prepared me well for the test.

After four weeks of Brian’s tutelage, my test on April 15 arrived. Brian had suggested that I chew gum if I was nervous. I chewed gum. In the past, I had had trouble convincing the testers and instructors that I was turning my head at intersections. For this test, I changed my wardrobe. Instead of a coat with a fur collar, I wore a long sweater with another sweater underneath. Since there was nothing to block their view, the tester could see my head turn. 

The night before my final test, I phoned my friend Myrtle in Thunder Bay to ask for prayers. Myrtles got busy. I swear there was Divine Intervention because calm washed over me about an hour before my test. The calm never left me until I heard the words, “Congratulations. You have done very well.”

My daughter Maureen was waiting for me. She had accompanied me to all but one test. We were both ecstatic. I picked up my licence, not really believing that I had passed.

You can imagine the phone calls and e-mails that went out that night. There was great rejoicing in both heaven and earth. In four days, Easter would arrive but this was my own personal resurrection.