Oooh! Driving stories!
My first time was when I was 11, on a friend's dairy farm, in an old jeep with no roof or doors that they used to go check on the herd. I was big for 11, so the pedals weren't a problem. Off road means you don't need to worry about things like traffic, curbs, signs... anything other than big rocks and trees. Oh, and cows.
When I turned 16, my father started teaching me how to use a clutch and drive his '68 bug, which I was to take my test in.
At the same time, I was taking driver's ed at the school in a '78 Ford Granada.
Basically, a land-locked cruise ship. The Granada had an extra brake pedal on the passenger side for the instructor, one Mr. Kurasciewicz, or "Krazy K". The course ran through the winter in Buffalo, and there was an intersection near the school that always iced up. He'd slam on the brakes in the middle of the intersection, and after you spun about a bit, say "OK, now get us out of here." Great training, really.
My father had raced cars (that's how he and my mother met, she did too). He taught me how to speed shift once I got the hang of the clutch. Best advice was "nurse it". You need to use both feet, accelerate gently as the clutch grips.
More stories another time... gotta go and do an oil change!