Daddy Let Me Drive

It was just an old hand-me-down Ford
With a three-speed on the column and a dent in the door
A young boy two hands on the wheel
I can't replace the way it mode me feel
And I would press that clutch
And I would keep it right
And he'd say, "a little slower son you're doing just fine"
Just a dirt road with trash on each side
But I was Mario Andretti
When daddy let me drive

I'm grown up now three [children] of my own
I let them drive my old Jeep across the pasture at our home
Maybe one day they'll reach back in their file
And pull out that old memory

I still remember driving a blue Chevy to feed Dr. Mellings cows when I was little. I'd put it in low and bounce across the pasture while dad pushed off hay. So now when our family loads up into the old flatbed Chevy, it does my heart good. . . the nostalgia, the memories.

Brother is becoming quite the little driver at 4 1/2 years of age. He has a tendency to let his eyes wander and chat too much, but he's getting better. Since he can't reach the pedals, I do the manipulating there. We make sure to slow down around the corners so he has time to get the steering wheel turned. If objects start approaching too fast, we crawl past so he can avoid them. His only complaint, "Too fast, Mom." His other job for chores is cutting the strings on the bales of hay. It's really cool for a little boy to be able to use Dad's knife.

Sister is responsible for feeding our heifer a can of grain to help fatten her up. For some reason she's really not understood the pecking order and intricacies of the food chain. At first she thought the cows were going to eat her. "Cow, me, eat." But now that Brent has explained that we're butchering the cow to eat she says, "Me, cow, eat."

And Ruby bounces happily along in her carrier, enjoying her life without responsibility.

As a side note, this was the pickup Brent's parents bought a few weeks he was born. It's been in the family ever since.