I was 15 when I began driving in Russia. When I learned that my family was moving to the United States where the driving age was 16, I swelled with excitement. I urged my father to teach me the ways of the wheel so that I could begin driving as soon as I got to my new home. He explained to me that he was too busy, but that if I found a driving instructor that he would pay the fees involved. About an hour later I left the house with high hopes of finding an instructor that would help progress to the next stage of adulthood. I hailed a taxi and upon entering, found a set of pedals at my feet on the passenger side. Confused, I asked the driver what kind of taxi this was. He explained to me that it wasn’t a taxi at all, but rather he was a driving instructor. That’s a strange coincidence, I thought. He asked “Why do you need lessons?”