As soon as I got my driver’s license at 18, I drove to my friend Ruthie’s house to celebrate. But as I was parallel parking, a skill I had just learned to pass my driver’s test, I hit a car. “I’m not getting back in there,” I told my friend’s mother.
“Oh, yes you are,” she said, and the owner of the car I hit agreed. Through
their kindness, I got back into the car, and, b”H, I’ve been driving
ever since, even teaching my children how to drive when they were teenagers.
Still, through the years, I’ve avoided parallel parking and mostly park my 2012
Camry at the curb in front of our house or between the white lines in parking
lots. Now that I’m a senior (not a high school one, of course) my new problem
is maneuvering my car between the white lines in those parking spaces.
* * *
As children we learn how to color inside the lines. That skill develops
with practice and age. And it’s fun. Not so parking in crowded lots. Recently,
I was criticized for not parking correctly. Here’s what happened: On a Sunday
morning a couple of months ago, I pulled into an unfamiliar parking lot of a
shul to attend a special service. I saw very few empty spaces, but I spotted a
less narrow one, said a prayer, and carefully drove in between the two white
lines. I wasn’t sure that I was in properly, so I backed out and in again to
make sure I was giving enough room to the cars on each side of me. Because I
was running late, I didn’t look back to check if I had parked correctly.
After the service, I found a note on my side mirror which said, “Please
don’t park like a shmendrik, I could hardly get into my car. You
need to be more careful about bein adam lechaveiro.”
I’m a shemdrick? I thought it sounded terrible, and I felt
insulted. When I got home, I shared what happened and asked my husband what
that word meant. “There are worse words,” he said, trying, as usual, to make me
feel better. Still, I was hurt by that note. Why couldn’t that person
judge me favorably?
* * *
Since that experience, I have avoided parking between two white lines in
narrow spaces. Instead, I look for at least two adjoining empty spaces because
four lines are better than two, even if I have to walk further to my
destination. Sometimes, in the beginning, I had no choice and needed to squeeze
into a single space after driving back and forth around the lot so many times.
Now, not convinced that I’ve parked correctly, I get out of my car to check
whether the drivers and passengers of the vehicles parked on each side of me
have enough room to open their doors and get in. Sometimes, I get back behind
the wheel, driving in reverse and forward one more time until I park right in
the middle of those white lines. This must be confusing to someone waiting for
that space and trying to decide if I’m coming or going. I’m coming – and with
practice, I am getting better but still not perfect.
Recently, something interesting happened: My new physical therapist pumped
up the driver’s seat of my car. Suddenly, I could see better over the steering
wheel. And now I can see those white lines before trying to park between them!
* * *
This made me remember how seeing a white line helped a famous Rav arrive
safely at his destination. Years ago, on a Shabbos afternoon, I walked to Beth
Jacob, my shul in Atlanta, to hear Rabbi Dr. Avraham Twerski, zt”l,
speak. He covered a lot of ground, including sharing a story of the time he was
driving down a steep mountain in a fog. He couldn’t see in front or behind him.
All he saw was a white line in the middle of the road, which he followed all
the way down the mountain. Rabbi Dr. Twerski said that the white line was like
the Torah, which helps us travel throughout life.
Trying to park correctly, I was also in a fog. Seeing where I was going
made a major difference in my parking. I have to thank my PT, who adjusted the
seat of my car. Perhaps I should also thank the person who left me that note.
Upon rereading it (yes, I kept it!), I realize that he didn’t call me
a shemdrick but asked me to “please not park like one.” He
could have judged me favorably, but then I wouldn’t have learned to park better
or work on the mitzva of bein
adam lechaveiro. And I wouldn’t have remembered that inspiring lecture
by Rabbi Twerski, who equated the white line in the middle of the road to the
Torah given to us by Hashem to guide us with the big and little challenges in
life.
