The most embarrassing thing to have happened to me in Sweden was failing the driving test. I started driving in the US when I was 15, thirty years before I came to Sweden. When I got here, I found that I could drive on my American licence for a year.
A year came and passed. Americans who have been here for decades told me they’ve been driving with their US licence for a lot longer. But I didn’t feel comfortable pressing my luck. I knew that driving safely here was an important part of integration.
I started researching how to get my Swedish driving licence. I learned that I would need to attend Risk 1 and Risk 2 courses, pass a written test, and then a driving test.
Risk 1 was only offered in Skellefteå in Swedish, so I asked if my husband could come along to translate.
I was not prepared for that first class. Mostly it involved education about drinking, drugs, and driving under the influence. Then they showed a short film showing a family with a young blond-haired little boy. The boy left the family and went running toward a nearby road. You can guess the rest.
Anytime I see a blond-haired little boy, I never fail to think of my brother and the car accident which turned him into a vegetable at the age of four. Never fail to think of how a car can change your whole life.
The video left me a blubbering mess, openly crying in front of the class. I often wonder whether hearing me react in such a visceral way to the video affected how safely the other people in the room ended up driving. Having the reminder definitely made me a safer driver.
Risk 2 was a lot more fun, and most of it was in English.
I passed the written part of the test and watched a video, in English, on what the examiner would be looking for. Then I stepped into the test vehicle.
Besides myself, there were three other people in the car, including two driving instructor supervisors. I found that this would be the last driving test my instructor would give before receiving their certification in becoming a “real” instructor. I was being judged, but so was my teacher.
I failed my first time. I was very nervous having three people in the car with me. I didn’t do well reversing, and I was also told that I slowed down too much at a yield sign. That I needed to consider the environment as well as safety, and that slowing down too much was not fuel efficient.
Afterwards, I told my examiner that I’d never failed a driving test before. The two people in the back burst out laughing at this and I left the car, hot and humiliated.
I spoke with other people in the newcomer community, and it became clear that many immigrants failed time and time again, and felt not only humiliated, but that racism might be involved in their plight.
Driving here is not much different than in the US. I still have to remind myself that I can’t turn right on a red light, but other than that, it’s not a problem. But on my recent trip to Florida, I realised just how Swedish my driving had become.
I was making complete stops at stop signs. Driving more slowly. Taking fewer chances in traffic. I was honked at for turning too slowly. My oldest son, still in the US, was flabbergasted by the change in my habits.
And while my driving in the states is now safer, I still cuss just as loudly at the other drivers. With Florida now an open carry state, I might have to curtail that in the future. I guess I’ll just have to learn how to cuss in Swedish.
This column was originally published at norran.se/english, the English part of norran.se.
This article is a column and the opinions are the writer's own.