There’s a scene in the sitcom “Schitt’s Creek” where mom Moira is trying to share a family recipe with her son David.

Moira hasn’t a clue how real people function, but she claims she can cook her mother’s enchilada recipe. She asks David to help.

When the instructions call to fold in the cheese, David asks what that means.

Moira tells him to just fold in the cheese. He asks for directions again. David finally realizes she hasn’t a clue about cooking, especially how to fold in cheese.

I felt a little like Moira when my grandson, Alex, and I were out for one of our last driving lessons – parking.

Over the past few years, I’ve gotten lazy about parking. I usually turn left into a parking spot because it seems easier, but either the front of the car is over the line or the rear end of the car is sticking out too far.

Then there’s the problem of getting inside the lines.

If I’m somewhat in the middle, it’s a success. If not, I park further out where sloppy parking doesn’t matter as much.

Alex said parking was on the driving test, so we set off on a Sunday afternoon to tackle this last lesson. We found an empty parking lot, and pulled in. Knowing I’m not great at parking, we decided to watch a few YouTube videos for some expert advice.

I learned a few things – there’s right-hand parking and left-hand parking. The reason I prefer left-hand parking is because the driver sits on that side and can see how close they are to the car on the left.

We set out two home-made cones for Alex to drive around – one of his younger brother’s toys and an empty laundry detergent container. Not top-of-the-line tools, but the make-shift cones would serve their purpose.

Then it was time for Alex to park. He asked what to do before turning into the spot. I hesitated, knowing my parking weakness. I took the easy way out.

“You park the car,” I told him.

He looked at me.

I motioned with my hand toward the empty spot.

“You just park it,” I said again. “Remember what we saw on the videos. Just park the car.”

Being a wonderful grandson, he tried to follow that useless advice.

But he was too close to the line on the driver’s side.

“How do I fix it?” he asked.

I thought about it.

“Just try again,” I replied.

He tried again and was on the line on the right-hand side of the car.

“Got any advice?” he asked.

“Let’s watch the videos again,” I replied.

We watched two different ones, and Alex patiently backed the car out of the spot. He turned the vehicle around and stopped.

“What should I do now?” he asked.

My advice was sound.

“Just park the car,” I said. That’s when I thought about that scene from “Schitt’s Creek.”

We moved to another empty parking lot, but this one had plate glass windows where Alex could see what he was doing. In just a few tries, he figured out how to turn and then straighten out the car.

Luckily, when it came to parallel parking, Alex got it on the first try without any useful advice from me. That was a stroke of good luck because my advice would’ve been the same – “You just park it.”

Later, I asked my 18-year-old granddaughter for advice about how to park a car. She looked at me and smiled.

“You just park it,” she said.

Vindication.

 

This column was originally published in The Fort Bend Herald.