Clutch!

Written February 28, 2023

Day 7 of 40 in a 45-day period: My grandfather, Pop Pop, passed away suddenly the week between Christmas and New Years my sophomore year of college. While his passing was sudden, in retrospect it wasn’t shocking given the More cigarettes habit. But it hit us hard.

My grandmother, being the no nonsense Italian woman she was, decided two cars were unnecessary and within a week of his passing, asked if I wanted Pop Pop’s secondhand 1982 Honda Accord. I said yes, accepting the challenge of learning to drive stick in two to three weeks.

My dad also accepted this challenge and my manual driving lessons began. This was in early 1998 and the clutch on the car, affectionately named Baby Blue by my sister and I, was forgiving to put it mildly. Any time I was at risk of stalling my dad would call/yell out “Clutch!” and I would push down the clutch, downshift, steer and either brake or accelerate simultaneously. There was a lot happening.

My dad and I experienced collective whiplash as Baby Blue and I got acquainted and in time, the neck pain eased. But when faced with a red light on a hill, the chest pain would begin. To ease the anxiety I learned to apply the parking brake to prevent a reverse fender bender if the clutch didn’t catch. This meant the brake had to be released and I had to get into first gear at the same time. Fortunately this was not Baby Blue’s first rodeo; her forgiving clutch and easy parking brake release served me well.

As Baby Blue and I were getting ready to return to Maryland, I opened the ashtray (she was born in 1982 so it makes sense) and found a pile of More cigarette butts. My dad offered to throw them out but I couldn’t do it. There was a strange comfort in finding them, even if the cigarettes took Pop Pop away too soon.

I eventually learned to stop and then go on a hill without relying on the parking brake. In time I bought my own car, the Silver Saturn, that was also stick with a forgiving clutch. My sister adopted Baby Blue and she couldn’t let go of the cigarette butts either. I guess some things stick around to remind us of both the rose and the thorn before we’re jerked back to reality at the sound of “Clutch!”