There’s a time that every parent hates to see arrive. Your child reaches the magic age of 16, when they can get their driver’s license, and of course, they also want their own car. Things seem to have changed a lot since I turned 16.
I was 23 years old, and just back from Vietnam, when I got my first car. In those days we managed to survive without our own car until we could pay for it by ourselves. It’s not just the car you have to pay for, there’s also insurance, titles, gas to make it run, and oil and other expenses to keep the whole thing working. Not to mention those unexpected expenses when something goes wrong. There’s a lot of expense involved with owning a car. My first car was an early sixty-something, dark green Chevy Impala oil-burner, with a leaky transmission. I’ve never gotten too excited about cars. To me a car is simply a mode of transportation to get from point A to point B.
I still remember the stressful times riding around with our kids when they were learning to drive in Madison. Uff da! I thought back to when I was 16 and living on the farm. Dad never let me practice with his car. I had been driving the old pickup in the fields for several years, and had many years practice driving tractors, backing wagons, and maneuvering them into tight places. How tough could driving a car be? The only reason Dad let me try for my license was because he was sure I’d never pass the first time. I insisted I wanted to get my license. He couldn’t believe it when we came back from the driving test and the examiner told him I’d passed the test. Like I said, how tough could driving a car be?
Just because I had my license was no guarantee that I’d get to drive his car. He let me take the old pickup to town to get things for him, but not the car. Finally after a couple months he let me use the car one evening. I felt like “King of the Road” as I went up and down the main street of Westby hoping some girls in town would see me cruising in my hot wheels. Maybe I could even pick someone up and give her a ride. No such luck, but I did find a couple of my friends and gave them a ride. We headed to the neighboring town of Viroqua. I was pretty hot stuff. To show off, I squealed the tires a few times. I’d wheel around a corner with enough speed so the back end would slide a bit and the tires let out a howl. As I came around one corner squealing my tires, there was Sheriff Morris Moon waiting for me! The red light started flashing and he signaled for me to pull over. ‘Oh crap,’ I thought. ‘First time behind the wheel and I get nailed by the Sheriff. I’ll never be allowed to use the car again as long as I live.’ I pulled over to the curb and the Sheriff pulled over to the curb across from me, got out of his car, and came striding slowly across the road to where I was sitting.
“You sure were making a lot of noise,” Sheriff Moon said, looking down sternly at me.
“I didn’t mean to squeal the tires,” I lied. “I must have turned too sharp.”
He just looked at me with that same stern look on his face. “I heard you turn too sharp several times. Let’s see your license.”
I pulled out my new license and handed it too him. We all sat as quiet as church mice and I was beginning to sweat as he examined it.
He looked back down at me and said, “Are you Huncie Sherpe’s boy?”
“Yes sir,” I said meekly, knowing my life was ending.
“I thought you’d be a better boy than this,” he said, shaking his head, still with that stern, fatherly look on his face. He handed the license back and pulled out a pad of paper and started writing. There I sat, the first time Dad let me drive his car and I’m going to get a ticket. He’s going to kill me!
The Sheriff finished writing, closed the notebook, and put it back in his pocket. “I’m not going to give you a ticket this time,” he said. “But I better not see you doing anything wrong again. Next time I won’t be as lenient. I know you’ll be telling your Dad we had this little talk when you get home. Next time I see him, I’m going to ask if you told him about this little meeting we had.” He smiled, turned, and headed back across the street to his car. He knew my Dad’s punishment would be far worse than any ticket he could give me.
I drove slowly and quietly out of town. I didn’t dare to tell Dad and lived in fear the rest of the summer, hoping that Sheriff Moon wouldn’t run into him and tell what I’d done.
I did keep my promise to Sheriff Moon. I finally told Dad about the incident… 40 years later. It was good to get it off my conscience… and my life didn’t come to an end!
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