I grew up hearing stories about my mom’s driving abilities, especially how backing a car out of a driveway usually ended up with our car in the ditch.

At barely 5-feet tall, my mom has a tough time seeing over the steering wheel of most vehicles, and 1950s vehicles were not designed for short drivers. She also grew up in a small town where few people owned cars, and she didn’t learn how to drive until she was a young adult.

Mom drives only because she has to get somewhere, and her driving record is always fodder for family jokes. I can’t count the number of casualties she’s racked up – rain gutters, poles, bicycles, shopping carts – the list goes on and on.

So it was with great reluctance I watched her climb behind the wheel of a motorized scooter in the grocery store while she’s here for a visit.

She has trouble with her knees, but she wanted to go to the market with me. She’s never used a motorized cart back home in Louisiana, ah the price of vanity, so she avoids stores because of all the walking.

Because she doesn’t know anyone here, she decided to give one a try.

While I parked the car, she practiced backing up and going forward in the store lobby. By the time I got inside, she was smiling like Mario Andretti at the Indianapolis 500 starting line.

“Ready?” I said.

Her reply was to zip through the double doors, barely missing the strawberry shortcake display and then zooming past the free samples of coffee on her way to the produce department.

Skidding to a stop in front of the lettuce bin, she reached over and tossed a couple of heads into her basket and then wheeled the cart around, executing a perfect three-point turn.

“What else do you need?” she said. “I’ll get it.”

“Lemons and tomatoes,” I said slowly, still trying to believe this was my mother — the woman those right-rear fender has taken out more mail boxes than anyone else I know — wheeling around kumquats and cucumbers like she’s done it all her life.

Of course, she almost clipped three shoppers picking out grapes and two more at the melon counter. Thank goodness, I said to myself as I apologized profusely, for people with quick reflexes.

I followed her to the meat section where she raced around the case, looking at the chicken thighs and broilers instead of people, and once again, I thanked the stars for people who react quickly.

“Mom, there’s an olive bar over there,” I said, pointing to an area few people visit in the grocery store. “You should go pick some out. Take your time, and I’ll pick up the rest of what we need.”

She smiled, shifted that cart into first gear and took off like a seasoned pro. As soon as she was around the corner, I practically ran through the store so I could get everything on the list, and we could get out of there before she caused some serious damage.

But, the woman was fast. In less than five minutes, she was zooming up next to me on the bread aisle, her cart filled with things she knew we needed. The smile on her face went from ear to ear.

“Let’s check out,” she said over her shoulder as she headed for the check-out lane coming within inches of an end display of tortillas and barely missing a man coming around the corner.

She skidded to a stop in front of the checker and turned around.

“I’m gonna have to get one of these,” she said, a wicked smile on her face.

Winn-Dixie, look out.

This column was originally published in The Fort Bend Herald.