Dad's Pick Up:Running Out of Gas!
During the 1960’s it was still legal to drive without seat belts, or children’s car seats and it was even OK to ride in the back of pick up trucks!
As first graders, my friends and I usually walked the mile back and forth to our small school, tucked into the woods, near the ocean. Our district didn’t have buses in those days, but if the weather was damp, our stay- at- home mothers took turns car pooling us.
All of our moms drove big luxury sedans. My mother drove a Lincoln Town Car, just like that used by the First Lady of the era, Lady Bird Johnson. Other moms drove Cadillacs, Jaguars and even a Rolls or two. Many families also had station wagons that were used for family errands.
But the vehicle that my friends and I preferred to ride to school in was my dad’s pick up truck!
Dad owned a fleet of trucks for his company, and our favorite, was his baby blue Ford F series pick up!
On those days when Dad drove carpooled, three or four of us six year olds would pack onto the bench seat next to dad, metal lunch boxes in tow.
Invariably within a minute or so of driving down the quiet road from our homes to our school, the pick up would gradually slow down, eventually coming to a complete stop.
“Looks like we’re out of gas!” Dad would exclaim, poker faced. “You girls will have to push if we are going to get you to class on time!”
With that, we would look at each other, initially with puzzlement and then with stifled giggles, as we knew what the next step would be.
“Place your hands on the dash and push with all your might!” Dad instructed us.
Not so much out of obedience but more out of giggles and glee, three or four pair of six year old palms would press against the dash with all our might, and lo and behold, Dad’s truck would start moving forward again, albeit, ever so slowly!
When we reached the turn in the road, where the hill sloped down towards the school, Dad would say “OK girls, you can rest for a moment while we coast down the hill!” while all the while, of course he applied a tad more pressure on the accelerator.
As soon as the road flattened out, he would instruct us to “push!” again, and once more all hands were on deck!
This charade continued until we finally coasted into the school yard, where Dad would drop us off and a magically zoom away.
We never had this kind of fun when we were driven to school in our mothers’ beautiful cars. We were instructed to be still, sit straight and to be perfect little ladies in every way…not nearly as fun as supposedly "running out of gas" in Dad’s pick up!
An excerpt from Where the Red Tailed Hawk Flies: Daddy Has Dementia.
Copyright © 2010 by Red Tailed Hawk Publishing/All rights reserved.
During the 1960’s it was still legal to drive without seat belts, or children’s car seats and it was even OK to ride in the back of pick up trucks!
As first graders, my friends and I usually walked the mile back and forth to our small school, tucked into the woods, near the ocean. Our district didn’t have buses in those days, but if the weather was damp, our stay- at- home mothers took turns car pooling us.
All of our moms drove big luxury sedans. My mother drove a Lincoln Town Car, just like that used by the First Lady of the era, Lady Bird Johnson. Other moms drove Cadillacs, Jaguars and even a Rolls or two. Many families also had station wagons that were used for family errands.
But the vehicle that my friends and I preferred to ride to school in was my dad’s pick up truck!
Dad owned a fleet of trucks for his company, and our favorite, was his baby blue Ford F series pick up!
On those days when Dad drove carpooled, three or four of us six year olds would pack onto the bench seat next to dad, metal lunch boxes in tow.
Invariably within a minute or so of driving down the quiet road from our homes to our school, the pick up would gradually slow down, eventually coming to a complete stop.
“Looks like we’re out of gas!” Dad would exclaim, poker faced. “You girls will have to push if we are going to get you to class on time!”
With that, we would look at each other, initially with puzzlement and then with stifled giggles, as we knew what the next step would be.
“Place your hands on the dash and push with all your might!” Dad instructed us.
Not so much out of obedience but more out of giggles and glee, three or four pair of six year old palms would press against the dash with all our might, and lo and behold, Dad’s truck would start moving forward again, albeit, ever so slowly!
When we reached the turn in the road, where the hill sloped down towards the school, Dad would say “OK girls, you can rest for a moment while we coast down the hill!” while all the while, of course he applied a tad more pressure on the accelerator.
As soon as the road flattened out, he would instruct us to “push!” again, and once more all hands were on deck!
This charade continued until we finally coasted into the school yard, where Dad would drop us off and a magically zoom away.
We never had this kind of fun when we were driven to school in our mothers’ beautiful cars. We were instructed to be still, sit straight and to be perfect little ladies in every way…not nearly as fun as supposedly "running out of gas" in Dad’s pick up!
An excerpt from Where the Red Tailed Hawk Flies: Daddy Has Dementia.
Copyright © 2010 by Red Tailed Hawk Publishing/All rights reserved.