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Abstract

try again — that is, make a fourth attempt — that I balk at.My pathetic bit of “poetry” was inspired by experience.Example: learning to drive.First try: At age 19, under duress from my parents, I took lessons in the summer of 1976 whilst living at home after college graduation.In complete accord with the expectation of my unlucky instructor, I failed the road test with cringing colors.The examiner was astounded that I managed to do everything wrong and then some; I got extra-debit for errors not amongst the test items.I would have achieved a higher negative score had I been allowed to complete the test; the examiner had declined to forgo the rest of his morning — and his life — on my account.Second try: At age 26, under duress from my first husband, I took lessons during my lunch hour in the summer of 1983.To the utter shock of my unlucky instructor, I passed the road test, though with flailing colors.The examiner was rolling his eyes and clenching his teeth the entire time; nevertheless — whilst expressing serious reservations and superfluously shaking his head — he gave me a pass.I rushed to buy a car

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the next day — paying top dollar despite it being the end of the season — in order to force myself to drive. I forthwith sought a new job out of town so as to justify my driving to work.Third try: At age 40, under duress from my second husband, I took lessons — from him (baaad idea) — in the summer of 1997.After my year of driving dangerously, 13 years prior, I had sold my car and taken a subway-friendly job. A refresher course was in order.To the amazement of both my husband and myself, as soon as I got behind the wheel, those 13 years vanished in an instant.All my bad habits returned in a flash.I drove our SUV with trepidation for four years until the day I carelessly “tapped” — to the tune of $1,500 — a Toyota.Fourth try: There was none.When people ask why I don’t drive, I explain that it’s for health reasons.That is, for the sake of the health of drivers — and pedestrians — who’d have otherwise been in my path.The proverb cited in the first sentence can be traced back to the writings of Thomas H. Palmer in his Teacher’s Manual and in Frederick Marryat’s The Children of the New Forest.</article></body>

The Third Time’s No Charm

Give it up already!

**Photo by Clark Van Der Beken on Unsplash**

W. E. Hickson is credited with popularizing the proverb:

’Tis a lesson you should heed: Try, try, try again. If at first you don’t succeed, Try, try, try again.

W. C. Fields is (falsely) credited with this comeback:

If at first you don’t succeed, try, try again. Then quit. There’s no point in being a damn fool about it.

I, E. Emerald, inspired by the pseudo-sentiments of W. C. Fields, merit partial credit for this verse:

Tried it once. Tried it twice. Tried once more. That’s three: no dice.

I coined that insipid ditty as a reminder to quit when I’m behind.

If at first you don’t succeed, try, try again. Like W. C., I’m OK with two more tries.

It’s Hickson’s exhortation: try, try, try again — that is, make a fourth attempt — that I balk at.

My pathetic bit of “poetry” was inspired by experience.

Example: learning to drive.

First try: At age 19, under duress from my parents, I took lessons in the summer of 1976 whilst living at home after college graduation.

In complete accord with the expectation of my unlucky instructor, I failed the road test with cringing colors.

The examiner was astounded that I managed to do everything wrong and then some; I got extra-debit for errors not amongst the test items.

I would have achieved a higher negative score had I been allowed to complete the test; the examiner had declined to forgo the rest of his morning — and his life — on my account.

Second try: At age 26, under duress from my first husband, I took lessons during my lunch hour in the summer of 1983.

To the utter shock of my unlucky instructor, I passed the road test, though with flailing colors.

The examiner was rolling his eyes and clenching his teeth the entire time; nevertheless — whilst expressing serious reservations and superfluously shaking his head — he gave me a pass.

I rushed to buy a car the next day — paying top dollar despite it being the end of the season — in order to force myself to drive. I forthwith sought a new job out of town so as to justify my driving to work.

Third try: At age 40, under duress from my second husband, I took lessons — from him (baaad idea) — in the summer of 1997.

After my year of driving dangerously, 13 years prior, I had sold my car and taken a subway-friendly job. A refresher course was in order.

To the amazement of both my husband and myself, as soon as I got behind the wheel, those 13 years vanished in an instant.

All my bad habits returned in a flash.

I drove our SUV with trepidation for four years until the day I carelessly “tapped” — to the tune of $1,500 — a Toyota.

Fourth try: There was none.

When people ask why I don’t drive, I explain that it’s for health reasons.

That is, for the sake of the health of drivers — and pedestrians — who’d have otherwise been in my path.

The proverb cited in the first sentence can be traced back to the writings of Thomas H. Palmer in his Teacher’s Manual and in Frederick Marryat’s The Children of the New Forest.