In 1941 my dad bought an old car and taught himself to drive. He was twenty-eight and fresh off the farm. The car had a motor and a front seat where he and mother sat. The back seat was gone as well as the floor. Dad placed a long board where the floor should have been and that’s where my brother and I stood while holding onto the front seat. I was four-years-old and Virgil was two. Our angels must have been watching over us because we could see the road passing by below us.
Dad and I are made out of the same cloth. At sixteen I taught myself to drive our stick-shift–back and forth in our driveway until I mastered the technique.