My first car was a 1955 Oldsmobile. With all four doors open, it would not fit into my current living room. After logging THOUSANDS of miles in our Sparks Avenue driveway, I was the Master of that machine. I proved that by parallel parking the Mother Ship on my drivers exam. My circle of friends and I adored this car, because ten people could be transported in relative comfort. For some insane reason, each class was encouraged to submit three separate floats in the Homecoming Parade one year. In desperation we plastered the Olds with newspapers, along with the slogan Spread the News! And, we won a prize. We had a very narrow driveway at our house, so driving skills were important. One evening at the supper table, my father said, so, who ran into the side of the house today? My mother said, Stan was the last person to drive the car. Locking eyes with her, I replied, while that may be true, I dont recall smacking into my bedroom wall. Jeez, my own mother tried to throw me under the bus. How harsh was that? Memories!
Posted on: Sat, 09 Aug 2014 00:55:15 +0000
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