I have been busier than a one-armed paper hanger or, as my Aunt Zada used to say, “a one-legged man in a butt-kicking contest.” My pet-sitting business has been so slammed that I have had to ask three other pet sitters to help me out to keep my clients happy. I have been trying to get my flower gardens in and spring clean.

Among all of this, I try to be there on the ready for my daughters and grandchildren. Last week, I started teaching my 7-year-old grandson how to drive.

Now, in a perfect world, this grandma would not be allowed to do this job. You see, I kind of have a track history with driving.

I have been referred to as crazy, a speed demon and a bunch of other terms that I find personally insulting. I’m just trying to have a little fun.

In my defense, or as a lame excuse, I am going to blame my predecessors, namely my father and my grandmother.

My father owned every car from a Jag to a Corvair. He was fascinated with speed and power behind the wheel. He also loved to talk about performance and body lines.

He loved to drive and probably should have become a race car driver instead of an engineer.

My dad was also a minister, and I can remember when I was about 9 years old driving with him to a Bible study, and he took a curve on what felt like two wheels.

I think it inspired me to like the Bible actually. My grandmother loved the old Datsun Z cars. She owned the 240Z, the 260Z, the 280Z and the 280Z, in succession.

She always ordered the same color, candy-apple red, but everyone thought that it was a pretty shade of orange. No one dared dispute it with her.

Every July 4, she would go to Lime Rock, Connecticut, just a few miles from her house, to watch Paul Newman race his Datsun Z cars. She would tilt her little snotty, prep-school-trained nose in the air and say in a tone like Queen Elizabeth, “I am off to watch Paul race today, dear,” like she knew him personally.

Paul Newman, for all of his racing expertise, would have probably refused to ride with her with her devil-may-care driving skills.

Growing up in this driving atmosphere, I also love the thrill of a high-performance car with good body lines. A stellar engine doesn’t hurt either.

Recently, I had my 7-year-old grandson for the day. He and I had to meet my daughter at her office and drive her Volkswagen to the repair shop.

She got busy with clients, and we had to wait in a huge and mostly deserted parking lot. At first, I had him take a running challenge all around to burn off some energy.

Then, somehow, we got on the subject of sports cars. We started looking at performance videos about my Mini Cooper. I have a six speed, on-the-floor, supercharged little ole baby.

We watched a few 0-60 shifting videos. I very seriously explained that Grandma’s car might be small, but it’s mighty. I feel like I got across to him the importance of a sports car.

That day, I was driving my second car, an old straight-shift Kia. I decided it was a perfect opportunity to let him get behind the wheel.

He is a little on the short side and couldn’t reach the pedals, so I put him on my lap. I taught him how to start the car, put the car in reverse, park and drive.

He learned how to turn to the right, turn to the left and straighten out the wheel. He really caught on quick. He was so excited and kept saying: “This is what I have always dreamed of! This is better than a video game.”

Feeling super proud of my grandmotherly influence, I decided to teach him how to make donuts. I showed him how to turn the steering wheel and keep it tight while I pressed on the gas pedal. Around and around we went. He was having the time of his life.

Later when we got back to his mother’s offi ce, we had her ride with us and show her his new driving expertise. We had her laughing and laughing while he made donuts.

She started telling him about riding with me in our Porsche when she was little. She said, “She was crazy!”

I have taught several of my grandchildren how to drive, passing on my wisdom and flair for fun, I will say that I refuse to be liable for any future speeding tickets.

That is as far as my instruction will go.

Teresa Kindred is a Southern writer and storyteller, writing for many newspapers in the South and telling her stories on radio and TV. She loves to chat and can be reached at prattmather@ yahoo.com