We drove. I sat on my mothers lap in the drivers seat and steered while she did the pedals, keeping us at 15 mph. She held her hands an inch away from the steering wheel, hovering, in case I overestimated one of the turns on our twisted road in Los Trencos, California. It was just the two of us, my mom and me so nobody told her she was crazy. My mother knew: at five I was coordinated enough to steer the car.
In my aunt Mona Simpsons book, A Regular Guy, a girl named Jane also drives. Her impoverished mother, Mary di Natali, sends her to find Janes rich father, Tom Owens.
