My driving instructor is middle aged with a gruff voice and grey curly hair. He is twice my size and he talks very fast. I explain that I am nervous about driving and he says, "Don't worry: I believe in student-centred learning."
It comes up that I have just graduated. "From where?" he asks, and I tell him I went to Harvard. He then tells me he has to go down to Boston himself sometimes. "I'm the president of the Porsche Club of Upper Canada," he hastens to explain.
What am I planning to do next? he wants to know. I tell him that I'm not sure what to do with my life; that I thought maybe I'd dabble in other subjects for a while; that I'm planning to learn some math in the fall. "I think it's great when women study math," he says. "It's so untraditional."
In the lesson I have some trouble manoeuvring the car. I overshoot a few turns. I get flustered when several things are happening at once. He responds by increasing the speed and volume at which he talks.
Sometimes I mix up which signal is left and which is right. To this he says, "What school did you tell me you went to again?" I turn to look at him. "Relax," he says. "I've got to amuse myself by making some jokes. Otherwise I'm going to get bored."
He tells me to pull over to the curb. At the last moment I am worried I will hit it instead and start steering away. "What are you doing?!" he exclaims. "I asked you to pull over on the right and you're steering left. Come on, this isn't rocket science."
At the end of the lesson, he tells me, "At this rate, you're going to need some extra lessons." He just wants me to know, that's all. But if I feel more comfortable going at this slower instructional pace, that is perfectly okay with him. "Like I said," he assures me, "I believe in student-centred learning."
