This article is from the source 'nytimes' and was first published or seen on . It last changed over 40 days ago and won't be checked again for changes.

You can find the current article at its original source at http://www.nytimes.com/2016/10/30/arts/television/trevor-noah-the-first-time-i-drove-a-car.html

The article has changed 2 times. There is an RSS feed of changes available.

Version 0 Version 1
Trevor Noah: The First Time I Drove a Car Trevor Noah: The First Time I Drove a Car. (I Was 6.)
(about 1 hour later)
When I was 5 years old, we moved to Eden Park, a neighborhood adjacent to several black townships on the outskirts of Johannesburg — half-colored and half-black, my mother figured, like us. It was me and her, alone. There was this sense of the two of us embarking on a grand adventure. We weren’t just mother and son. We were a team.When I was 5 years old, we moved to Eden Park, a neighborhood adjacent to several black townships on the outskirts of Johannesburg — half-colored and half-black, my mother figured, like us. It was me and her, alone. There was this sense of the two of us embarking on a grand adventure. We weren’t just mother and son. We were a team.
Eden Park was one of those “suburbs” that are actually out on the edge of civilization, the kind of place where property developers have said: “Hey, poor people. You can live the good life, too. Here’s a house. In the middle of nowhere. But look, you have a yard!”Eden Park was one of those “suburbs” that are actually out on the edge of civilization, the kind of place where property developers have said: “Hey, poor people. You can live the good life, too. Here’s a house. In the middle of nowhere. But look, you have a yard!”
It was when we moved to Eden Park that we finally got a car, the beat-up, tangerine Volkswagen Beetle my mother bought secondhand for next to nothing, which was more than it was worth. One out of five times, it wouldn’t start. There was no A-C. Any time I made the mistake of turning on the fan, the vent would fart bits of leaves and dust all over me.It was when we moved to Eden Park that we finally got a car, the beat-up, tangerine Volkswagen Beetle my mother bought secondhand for next to nothing, which was more than it was worth. One out of five times, it wouldn’t start. There was no A-C. Any time I made the mistake of turning on the fan, the vent would fart bits of leaves and dust all over me.
Whenever it broke down, we’d catch minibuses, or sometimes we’d hitchhike. My mom would make me hide in the bushes because she knew men would stop for a woman but not a woman with a child. She’d stand by the road, the driver would pull over, she’d open the door and then whistle, and I’d come running up to the car. I would watch their faces drop as they realized they weren’t picking up an attractive single woman but an attractive single woman with a fat little kid.Whenever it broke down, we’d catch minibuses, or sometimes we’d hitchhike. My mom would make me hide in the bushes because she knew men would stop for a woman but not a woman with a child. She’d stand by the road, the driver would pull over, she’d open the door and then whistle, and I’d come running up to the car. I would watch their faces drop as they realized they weren’t picking up an attractive single woman but an attractive single woman with a fat little kid.
When the car did work, we had the windows down, sputtering along and baking in the heat. The dial on that car’s radio stayed on one station. It was called Radio Pulpit, and as the name suggests it was nothing but preaching and praise. I wasn’t allowed to touch that dial. Any time the radio wasn’t getting reception, my mom would pop in a cassette of Jimmy Swaggart sermons. (When we finally found out about the scandal? Oh, man. That was rough.)When the car did work, we had the windows down, sputtering along and baking in the heat. The dial on that car’s radio stayed on one station. It was called Radio Pulpit, and as the name suggests it was nothing but preaching and praise. I wasn’t allowed to touch that dial. Any time the radio wasn’t getting reception, my mom would pop in a cassette of Jimmy Swaggart sermons. (When we finally found out about the scandal? Oh, man. That was rough.)
But as broken down as our car was, it was a car. It was freedom. We weren’t black people stuck in the townships, waiting for public transport. We were black people who were out in the world. We were black people who could wake up and say, “Where do we choose to go today?”But as broken down as our car was, it was a car. It was freedom. We weren’t black people stuck in the townships, waiting for public transport. We were black people who were out in the world. We were black people who could wake up and say, “Where do we choose to go today?”
On the commute to work and school, there was a long stretch of the road into town that was completely deserted. That’s where my mom would let me drive. On the highway. I was 6. She’d put me in her lap and let me steer and work the indicators while she worked the pedals and the stick shift. After a few months of that, she taught me how to work the stick. She was still working the clutch, but I’d climb in her lap and take the stick, and she’d call out the gears as we drove.On the commute to work and school, there was a long stretch of the road into town that was completely deserted. That’s where my mom would let me drive. On the highway. I was 6. She’d put me in her lap and let me steer and work the indicators while she worked the pedals and the stick shift. After a few months of that, she taught me how to work the stick. She was still working the clutch, but I’d climb in her lap and take the stick, and she’d call out the gears as we drove.
There was this one part of the road that ran deep into a valley and then back up the other side. We’d get up a head of speed, and we’d stick it into neutral and let go of the brake and the clutch, and, woo-hoo!, we’d race down the hill and then, zoom!, we’d shoot up the other side. We were flying.There was this one part of the road that ran deep into a valley and then back up the other side. We’d get up a head of speed, and we’d stick it into neutral and let go of the brake and the clutch, and, woo-hoo!, we’d race down the hill and then, zoom!, we’d shoot up the other side. We were flying.
If we weren’t at school or work or church, we were out exploring. My mom’s attitude was: “I chose you, kid. I brought you into this world, and I’m going to give you everything I never had.” She poured herself into me. She would find places for us to go where we didn’t have to spend money. We must have gone to every park in Johannesburg. My mom would sit under a tree and read the Bible, and I’d run and play and play and play.If we weren’t at school or work or church, we were out exploring. My mom’s attitude was: “I chose you, kid. I brought you into this world, and I’m going to give you everything I never had.” She poured herself into me. She would find places for us to go where we didn’t have to spend money. We must have gone to every park in Johannesburg. My mom would sit under a tree and read the Bible, and I’d run and play and play and play.
On Sunday afternoons after church, we’d go for drives out in the country. My mom would find places with beautiful views for us to sit and have a picnic. There was none of the fanfare of a picnic basket or plates or anything like that, only baloney and brown bread and margarine sandwiches wrapped up in butcher paper. To this day, baloney and brown bread and margarine will instantly take me back. You can come with all the Michelin stars in the world, just give me baloney and brown bread and margarine, and I’m in heaven.On Sunday afternoons after church, we’d go for drives out in the country. My mom would find places with beautiful views for us to sit and have a picnic. There was none of the fanfare of a picnic basket or plates or anything like that, only baloney and brown bread and margarine sandwiches wrapped up in butcher paper. To this day, baloney and brown bread and margarine will instantly take me back. You can come with all the Michelin stars in the world, just give me baloney and brown bread and margarine, and I’m in heaven.
As modestly as we lived, I never felt poor because our lives were so rich with experience. We were always out doing something, going somewhere. Sometimes, my mom would take me on drives through fancy white neighborhoods. We’d go look at people’s houses, look at their mansions. We’d look at their walls, mostly, because that’s all we could see from the road. We’d look at a wall that ran from one end of the block to the other and go: “Wow. That’s only one house. All of that is for one family.”As modestly as we lived, I never felt poor because our lives were so rich with experience. We were always out doing something, going somewhere. Sometimes, my mom would take me on drives through fancy white neighborhoods. We’d go look at people’s houses, look at their mansions. We’d look at their walls, mostly, because that’s all we could see from the road. We’d look at a wall that ran from one end of the block to the other and go: “Wow. That’s only one house. All of that is for one family.”
Sometimes we’d pull over and go up to the wall, and she’d put me up on her shoulders like a little periscope. I would look into the yards and describe everything I was seeing. “There’s a lemon tree! They have a swimming pool! And a tennis court!”Sometimes we’d pull over and go up to the wall, and she’d put me up on her shoulders like a little periscope. I would look into the yards and describe everything I was seeing. “There’s a lemon tree! They have a swimming pool! And a tennis court!”
My mother refused to be bound by ridiculous ideas of what black people couldn’t or shouldn’t do. She raised me as if there were no limitations on where I could go or what I could do. When I look back, I realize she raised me like a white kid — not white culturally, but in the sense of believing that the world was my oyster, that I should speak up for myself, that my ideas and thoughts and decisions mattered.My mother refused to be bound by ridiculous ideas of what black people couldn’t or shouldn’t do. She raised me as if there were no limitations on where I could go or what I could do. When I look back, I realize she raised me like a white kid — not white culturally, but in the sense of believing that the world was my oyster, that I should speak up for myself, that my ideas and thoughts and decisions mattered.
We tell people to follow their dreams, but you can only dream of what you can imagine, and, depending on where you come from, your imagination can be quite limited. The highest rung of what’s possible is far beyond the world you can see. My mother showed me what was possible. The thing that always amazed me about her life is that no one showed her. No one chose her. She did it on her own. She found her way through sheer force of will.We tell people to follow their dreams, but you can only dream of what you can imagine, and, depending on where you come from, your imagination can be quite limited. The highest rung of what’s possible is far beyond the world you can see. My mother showed me what was possible. The thing that always amazed me about her life is that no one showed her. No one chose her. She did it on her own. She found her way through sheer force of will.
Perhaps even more amazing is the fact that my mother started her little project, me, at a time when she could not have known that apartheid would end. I was nearly 6 when Mandela was released, 10 before democracy finally came, yet she was preparing me to live a life of freedom long before we knew freedom would exist.Perhaps even more amazing is the fact that my mother started her little project, me, at a time when she could not have known that apartheid would end. I was nearly 6 when Mandela was released, 10 before democracy finally came, yet she was preparing me to live a life of freedom long before we knew freedom would exist.
A hard life in the township or a trip to the colored orphanage were the far more likely options on the table. But we never lived that way. We moved only forward, and we always moved fast, and by the time the law and everyone else came around we were already miles down the road, flying across the freeway in a broken down, bright-orange Volkswagen Beetle with the windows down and Jimmy Swaggart praising Jesus at the top of his lungs.A hard life in the township or a trip to the colored orphanage were the far more likely options on the table. But we never lived that way. We moved only forward, and we always moved fast, and by the time the law and everyone else came around we were already miles down the road, flying across the freeway in a broken down, bright-orange Volkswagen Beetle with the windows down and Jimmy Swaggart praising Jesus at the top of his lungs.