The Six-Year-Old Truck Driver
When he was six my little brother Davie graduated from driving toy
trucks to driving the real thing. He persuaded Daddy to let him drive the truck -- alone -- across the fields of our Montana farm and around the farmyard. Davie knew all about truck driving by then. He had seldom missed a movement Daddy or Grandpa made while driving. It was an eerie sight watching Davie drive that truck, because you couldn't see him. It appeared the truck was driving itself. Then you'd locate the top six inches of his little blond head above the dashboard, eyes peering intently ahead. In those days he didn't drive in a seated position: he drove with his tiny bottom just brushing the edge of the seat, while his feet grasped for the pedals and his neck strained to keep his eyes above the dashboard. He drove well, putting his whole body and mind into it. In fact, he drove so well that in the fall he was allowed to drive the truck, full of wheat, over the farm fields to our granary in the barn. That day he glowed with happiness. When he was eight, he was permitted to drive the family car IN THE DRIVEWAY. He would spend entire Sunday afternoons doing so. He'd back the car to the end of the driveway, stop, change gears, drive the car forward forty feet to the garage, stop, change gears, back the car to the end of the driveway, stop, change gears... One Sunday afternoon when he was nine he began showing the results of these training exercises. It was a raw March day, when the snow had melted and the soil just http://www.dontplayplay.com/html/Hum...929/25510.html |
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