MY SECOND CAR; WORSE THAN THE FIRST

I told you about my first car several weeks ago. I wish I could tell you I had a better experience with my second car, but it is what it is; Adventure and adversity. I had a 19-inch TV I had either bought or acquired in a trade. I don’t really remember. My uncle, being a master trader, convinced me to buy a CB radio from him, and offer both the TV and the radio in trade to a man he knew, for a car he had. It was a 1975 Mustang. You heard me right; a 1975 Mustang. The ugliest Mustang body style ever made. It was red with a white rag-top, with dulling paint. It had not been well taken care of. It was sitting in his yard just rusting away. It had all kinds of problems, but my uncle assured me that he would help me get it going. He was a master mechanic, and I knew he could do it, so I made the deal, and started home. Immediately I noticed the smell of burning oil. The left side of the rear was lower than the right. The tires were bald and it smoked, but I had a car.

We got the car to my uncle’s house, and he looked it over to see what it needed. It needed to be jacked up, and a new car slid under it. That’s a funny way of saying it was a pile of junk. The motor was shot, and the transmission was on its way. The body had problems, and it was really unsafe. Well, there was nothing I could do but park it in the yard, and let it rust, or drive it until it wouldn’t go anymore.

My dad told me about an old car he had owned when he was young. It was a mess, and he couldn’t keep it running, so when he got it going one last time, he drove it into the woods toward the river as fast as he could. He ran over briers, bushes, saplings, and trees until he could go no further. He then got out, and walked away, leaving the car there to rot. He laughed when he told me an older man he knew found the car, drug it out of the bottom, fixed it, and drove it for several years.

As much trouble as I was having with my car, I wanted to do something similar, but I was thinking more along the lines of driving it off a cliff. I imagined jacking it up in the back just enough to get the tires off the ground. Then I would start it up, place a large stone on the gas peddle, and push it off the jack. In my mind I could see the car burning out, slinging dirt everywhere as it flew off the cliff, and then exploding into a ball of flames as it tumbled to its resting place, or rather, its rusting place. There were a few snags in making my fantasy a reality, though. One, I didn’t really have a cliff anywhere close. Two, I was sure it would be a crime to do something like that, especially if I didn’t own the property where this imaginary event may occur, and three, I didn’t have a large stone for the gas pedal.

In reality, I didn’t really have the courage to actually destroy the thing, so I just drove it around, visiting family, until it would die. My cousin rode around with me, and when it would die, he would jump in the driver’s seat, and I would push the car. He would let out on the clutch, and hopefully, it would crank.

One time when it died, we were going up a hill. He got behind the wheel, and let the car roll backward. He couldn’t get it to go into gear to crank it. He was so focused on the gear stick, he didn’t realize he was about to go off the road into the river. At the last minute, he turned just in time to avoid the water and ended up in some bushes.

Another day, we were off on an old gravel back road, and the thing died. It was flooded out, and wouldn’t start. The road was pretty flat, and the gravel was thick, so there was nothing we could do but call someone. We called my uncle, and he headed our way. There was only one problem; He was drinking. When he got there, he didn’t have a chain, or a tow strap with him, so he said he would push us. Now, the reason one side of my car was lower than the other was it had air shocks, and the left one had a leak. I had aired it back up, and now the rear of the car was pretty high. It looked kind of like a dragster. When my uncle started pushing us, the bumpers seemed to match up, but as he drove faster, my bumper slid on top of his, lifting the back wheels off the road. I couldn’t get the car started that way.

Having not been driving long, I was pretty nervous anyway, but knowing my uncle was drinking, I was downright scared. As he accelerated, we became terrified. We wanted him to stop, but we had no way of letting him know that. For a minute the bumper of my car was stuck on top of the bumper of his car, but when he stepped on his brakes we came loose. I tried engaging the clutch, but it was useless. The car wouldn’t start. The tires just kept sliding on the gravel.

Finally, we came to a stop in the middle of the road. When we looked back to see where my uncle was, we saw him speeding toward us, apparently with no intention of stopping. My cousin screamed, “He’s gonna hit us.” That’s exactly what he did, and we were going again, with the back wheels up in the air. Finally, the car started, and I put the pedal to the medal, hoping he would quickly realize the thing was running on its own. I drove straight to his house and parked that death trap for a while, to let my nerves settle, and I didn’t start it back up until I knew he was sober.

Another time the car died, and we couldn’t get it to start at all. We were on the road just outside my uncle’s sister’s house. We went to call him on her CB radio. She wasn’t home, but her son was, and he was drunk. He let us make the call, but I believe my uncle was sleeping, or not at home, or something. I don’t recall just why but, he wasn’t coming anytime soon, so I told my cousin, we would just have to push the car home. I jokingly said, something like, “Come on and help us push this car home,” to my cousin’s cousin. He was the guy who was drunk. He just looked at me, and I went on out to my car. All of a sudden, out of nowhere, there he was. He was acting insane, cursing, and saying all kinds of crazy stuff. He wanted to fight about what I had said. I told him I was only joking, but he wouldn’t stop. I was scared, but thank God for sending help. One of his friends came along and convinced him that I didn’t mean anything by it.

I really wanted to get my car away from there now, as quickly as possible, and I wasted no time getting it rolling. I stood up on the foot threshold and steered the car until it slowed down, then I would step off, and get it going again as fast as I could, then I would jump back up on the threshold again. I did this a couple of times, then when the car started slowing down again, I stepped down one last time.

The car was rolling much faster than I thought, so when my feet hit the ground that time, it was like they stuck to the pavement. Down I went on my left knee. It hit hard, and it’s still damaged to this day. I got up as quickly as I could to see where the car and my cousin were. He was still standing on the threshold of the passenger side. The car was still rolling with no driver. Just then it left the road and rolled up a steep embankment. It came to an abrupt stop as it hit something; Either a light pole or a fence post. My cousin fell onto the ground, and I believe the car would have rolled over on him if the door had not been open. It stuck in the ground beside him at a ninety-degree angle, preventing it from crushing him. I finally gave up and got rid of that thing, and I was glad I did. I was better off without it. It was just too much trouble.

My experiences with that car remind me of sin. We think it’s something we want, and if it’s not exactly what we want, we think we can fix it. We keep playing around with it even after it has caused us problems, and even after it almost kills us. In Job chapter 1, God said that Job was a righteous man, and he avoided evil. We need to be like Job. We need to learn to identify sin and avoid it. We will be better off if we never get caught up in it in the first place.

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THE VOLKSWAGEN, THE PRINCIPAL, AND THE SWINGING BRIDGE

I think this may be my last post about my time at Gift school. For alas, today I will have exhausted my memory banks of those joyful days of my youth at that fine institution of learning. I don’t even remember what grade I was in when these memories took place, nor which one came first. So, without further ado, I present the last episode in this series.

One day, when it was time to go home, as we were waiting for the buses, a group of older students picked up a teacher’s Volkswagen Bug and wedged it in between a big Dumpster, and a Gas tank. When she came out to leave, she was furious. There was no way for her to go forward, nor backward. She started asking who did it. I didn’t say a word. When she started demanding that whoever did it, undo it, the parties responsible came forward and moved the car back for her. She got in the car, started it up, and drove away, smiling.

Another time, when we were gathering outside to go home, I did something stupid. For some reason, I just tossed a small rock and hit the bus. The Principal saw me and grabbed me by the arm. He told me I was getting a paddling. Since the buses were about to leave, he said I was to come to his office first thing the next morning.

Well, I didn’t want a paddling. I had heard they had an electric paddle in the office, and I thought I had seen it one day when I was walking past, and the door was open. It was bright green. Since I had only seen wooden paddles before, it had to be the electric one. I could imagine how painful it would be. Getting shocked with electricity with every lick. I might die. So, as soon as I got home, I jumped off the bus and ran inside. I ran to my grandmother and told her what had happened. I poured out my heart to her and told her about the electric paddle that I might be subjected to the next morning. I begged her to write the Principle a note telling him not to paddle me.

Kids learn early how to manipulate, and I was no different. I don’t remember everything I said to my grandmother, but she wrote the note. I do remember thinking the teacher would be more likely to listen to her if she addressed him by his first name. It just so happened that I knew his first name. It was George. I had heard a teacher call him that one day, so I told my grandmother to start the note with, “Dear Mr. George.”

I took the note to his office the next morning and handed it to him. After reading it, the first thing he said was, “How did she know my name was George?” When we’re in danger, human nature kicks into the “Fight or Flight” mode. Children often don’t have that option. They can neither fight, nor run, so they lie, and that’s what I did. I shrugged my shoulders, and said, “I don’t know.” Well, I don’t know exactly why, but he didn’t paddle me, and I was sure glad.

I remember a Fall Festival one year, where we had some sort of pageant, with a King and Queen. I remember standing in line behind the stage in an auditorium full of people. I must have been pretty nervous because I don’t remember walking out. I know I did because I have a picture of me standing on the stage with a brown suit, and the paper pumpkin with the contestant number on it. My sister ended up being chosen as Queen, and Mark, the one who almost drowned in the pond, was the King.

It may have been the same night, but I’m not sure. I just remember having games and playing outside in the semi-dark. We bobbed for apples, and fished behind a curtain, using a fishing pole with a clothespin instead of a hook. We caught some cool prizes. I do remember not wanting the fun to end that night, but as with all good things, it did.

Another time we took a field trip to Tishomingo State Park to visit “The Swinging Bridge.” I’ve always had a vivid imagination, so when I first heard we were going there, I imagined the bridge was like a swing in the schoolyard, only bigger. I was excited, and nervous at the same time. The day finally came, and we were on our way. I still remember how awesome it was when the bus was coming into the parking lot. When I saw the bridge, it wasn’t what I expected. It was even better. A huge, majestic arch stood before the bridge. It was amazing. The whole day was amazing. Even eating my brown, paper-bagged lunch there was amazing.

The thing I’ll never forget though is something that happened on the bridge. A girl named Kelly was already scared, and she was holding on tightly to the side of the bridge. I was just about to walk onto the bridge when, all of a sudden several of the older boys started pulling and swinging on the cables, and the bridge started swinging and rippling, and Kelly started screaming as she was hurled back and forth trying to hang on for dear life. The look on her face told me she was terrified. I wanted to help her, but there was nothing I could do. I couldn’t believe anyone could enjoy causing another person so much turmoil. Those boys thought it was funny; that is until one of the teachers came and made them stop. I know that was a terrible experience for Kelly, but it could have been a lot worse.

There was a large area in the basement, beside the lunchroom, where we sometimes played when it was bad outside. A while before the school closed down, they started having old people come for a few hours each day, and play games, and visit, and whatever old folks do. Most of them were friendly, and we got to know some of them pretty well. A few of them even came outside and played with us at recess. On the first day back to school, in the fourth grade, there weren’t enough students to justify keeping the school open. So, we had to go to Kossuth school, and they closed Gift School.

After the school closed, they still had the old folk's center for a while, and other local things were held there from time to time. Now, there’s nothing left of the school, but a cracked, grass-covered basketball court, and a few old memories; Memories that I cherish.

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TADPOLES, MOLES, AND EASTER EGGS

Wow! I can’t believe all the memories I have stored in my brain from just five years at Gift school. I could probably write a book, but for now, I just want to share these memories, and maybe encourage someone else, or make someone smile.

I remember my first-grade teacher’s name was Miss Gay. Her mother, Mrs. Minnie V. was my second, and third-grade teacher. Both the second and third-grade classes were in the same room together. I never thought that was weird back then because we saw schools on TV where kids from every grade were all in one room.

I had a lot of fun at Gift, and I enjoy remembering those times once in a while. There was lots of water around the school, and there were lots of frogs and tadpoles. I told my grandmother about them, and how they turned into frogs, but she didn’t believe it. I guess that seemed like evolution, and she didn’t believe in that, and rightly so. That’s not proof of evolution, by the way. It’s nothing more than a frog egg developing into a frog without the confines of a shell, as many other egg-laying creatures have.

Anyway, I found a big can from the lunchroom, collected some tadpoles in some water, and took them home. I wanted my grandmother to witness them growing into frogs. Well, low and behold, my little sister happened upon my makeshift aquarium. She didn’t know my plan. I don’t even know if she knew what was in the can, but she poured the water out, and the baby frogs along with it. Ugggh! All that trouble to get a can, and getting the tadpoles in it, and all the trouble getting it home on the bus, without spilling it. All that effort down the drain. But, I loved my sister, so I forgave her.

Another time there was a mole in the schoolyard, and we could see it moving beneath the ground. We wanted to see what a mole looked like, so we chased him down, and cut him off at both ends of his trail. One kid dug from one side, and I dug from the other until we had it cornered. Then we removed the last bit of dirt, and there it was. We didn’t get much of a look at it, though. It ran out of the hole and disappeared under the leaves. It was so fast. All that time, wasted, and we still didn’t know exactly what a mole looked like.

In the first grade, we got to watch a movie once in a while in the afternoon. Sometimes we got to watch TV for class, and I remember watching Sesame Street, and The Electric Company during recess sometimes, especially when it was raining, or cold outside.

I remember one Easter, it was wet and nasty outside, so we hid the eggs in the classroom. We hunted until the teacher thought we had found them all. Turns out, we stopped just one egg short. Later on that summer, someone found the egg behind something on a shelf. We were so excited. You would have thought we had found a hidden treasure. We all knew it was rotten by then, but we had to see how bad. We took it outside and gathered around the student who had the egg. He threw it on the ground, and before you could say Ty-Con-De-Rogga, the smell penetrated our nostrils, and the whole class erupted in a torrent of screams and yells. Gagging, running, and falling followed. Finally, the teacher restored order and got us all safely back inside. What a beautiful memory. I can almost smell it now, as I think about it.

Well, that’s as far as I want to go down Memory Lane today. It’s always fun to visit those places and savor those memories. It’s good to know that I have so many good memories to reflect on in this world of growing turmoil. I pray that someday when we look back at our past, there will only be good times to remember.

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© 2016 Teddy Lynn – All Rights Reserved

My books are available in paperback and digital format on Amazon @ 
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