Grandpa drove us crazy and other places too. His car had super powers…boy, the things that it could do.
Off to Prairie Creek he went. Grandma by his side. The two grandsons in the back had a real wild ride.
Grandpa revved the motor to build up all his speed. And then he sashayed up the hill, with speed he didn’t need.
(“We’ll park it where it stops,” he said, and everyone agreed.)
He headed for the lake with another young grandson. They were both excited to get out and have some fun.”We have to turn around, I forgot the lunch I packed.” He hit the ditch and gunned it and in no time they were back.
(They had warm milk and sandwiches in a thermos and a sack.)
Grandpa drove the cheerleaders to a high school game. If they got there late, he was not to blame. It was thirty miles away, but he clocked twenty-five. I think four out of five of them felt glad to be alive. It was a winding road he was supposed to twist and turn.
(Grandpa drove straight all the way and we had time to burn.)
He made it everywhere he went and Grandma rode along. We all lived to tell about those times now all long gone. The buzzer on the old Ford set at the speed limit. Buzzed all the way to everywhere.
(It seemed like every minute.)
When he took his grandkids fishing, he was always in his glory. Our fears began when he started telling story after story. He’d turn around to look, at those who sat behind.
(The car swerved to the road’s edge or crossed a double line.)
“Sit on the front fender and you can watch for pheasant.” The idea was a good one, but what happened wasn’t pleasant. Grandpa saw the birds, hit the brakes and honked the horn.
(The boys became airborne and landed in a field of corn.)
The car must have sensed it must try and stay on track, because we always made it there and somehow made it back.