I was taught to drive by the woman in our town who drove the school bus.

That probably explains why I still stop every few houses and open my door.

And I started late, too. While a lot of my classmates in high school were already taking lessons, I was still tak ing the bus.

(This was in Rhode Island, so when I heard them talking about going to their `` 30 hours,'' I thought it was some new religious devotion instead of the driving course. Well, it was a Catholic school.)

After all, my parents rea soned, I didn't have any where to go that they could n't take me. And If they couldn't take me, why did I need to go there? So why did I need to drive? Even at 15, I sensed there was flaw in this logic, but who was I to argue? I didn't even have a driver's license. Eventually, though, some one in my family realized that I would never get a job if I couldn't drive, so my mother, who was a teacher, talked to Mrs. Mandeville, who kindly consented to teach me.

Mrs. Mandeville was a very good teacher. I passed my driving test on the first try, in spite of the fact I for got to signal when pulling out into traffic. Luckily, I wasn't taking the test in Rhode Island. Not that I would have failed. If you don't signal in Rhode Island, they make you an instructor.

`Road ragerquote

My mother did not teach me to drive herself for a very valid reason. She was not completely insane.

You see, she didn't learn how to drive until my father died and she was a very care ful driver after that. Which means that when Mom was riding shotgun, I never had to look at the signs by the side of the road.

She'd always volunteer, `` You, know, the speed limit here is 30.''

I think she realized that teaching me to drive could have given new meaning to the term `` road rage.''

Anyway, I finally got my license and was able to hit the open road in the family car, a light brown Chevy Nova, which could go from 0 to 60 -- eventually.

So how dull was the Nova? When Chrysler introduced the K-Car, Nova owners said, `` Whoa, sexy!''

But it had four wheels and an engine -- of sorts -- and it provided, at least, the illu sion of freedom. Of course, Mom got tired of subsidizing my aimless cruising. `` Do you realize gasoline costs 36 cents a gallon, young man?'' But that seemed like a small price to pay for joining the great American motoring public. My point is, though, that, pretty soon, someone else in my family is going to be learning how to drive. She is a bright, responsible young woman who has been talking about taking driving lessons since she was about 11 years old.

With my example, she's sure to be a good driver. Watch for her. She'll be stopped with her red blinkers on.

TOM REILLY is a Sun Chronicle news editor. He can be reached at 508-236-0332 or at treilly(at)(at)thesunchronicle.com. Just not while he's driving.