I went to test finally. I had gotten my lerner's permit the day after I turned sixteen and was rarin' to go but Dad had some bad news. One of his customers was a registry cop and in passing dad had learned that it was best for a new licensee to wait at east a month or two before testing unless you had a previous license from another state. The cop told him the testers generally were over rigorious to young people that showed up the day after they got their permits. So we waited a couple of months. I still was Dad's chauffeur but now it included daylight hours so I generally drove him everywhere. The first time after I got my permit I drove Dad to the Harbor to the hardware/lumberyard to pick up some trim for a project. I don't think the ink had dried on my permit when I did that. A couple months later it was off to the testing place a couple of towns over. IIRC it was a first come, first served situation and we had to wait a while. Much to my consternation Dad jumped into the back seat and started to take a nap. What was that all about? A girl was walking out with the tester to their car. She was a giggly girl that looked as nervous as a whore in church.  The two of them got into the car and left. They were gone about ahalf hour and she got out of the car excited. She had passed. Generally speaking, parents were not allowed to ride along. Probably because if a kid failed some of the parents would raise hell. The tester came over to me and when he saw dad sleeping in the back seat he said, "Oh, hell. Let him sleep." We got in and off we went. He gave directions and I drove. Shortly thereafter he started giving me a lecture about safe driving and yada yada yada. Every kid has heard the same thing hundreds of time and it's annoying as hell. What really made it suck was I was captive. I HAD to listen to it. When he got to the drinking and driving part a sleepy voice from the back seat said, "He quit doing that two years ago." The tester went into schock and indignantly and pompously snapped "In the Commonwealth of Massachusetts you have to be sixteen years of age to operate a motor vehicle and twenty one years of age to buy liquor!" I calmly answered "In Montana you can get a driver's license at fourteen and drive at any age so long as a licensed driver is sitting next to you. It's rural there so Montana permits it." "What were you doing in Montana?" he asked. "I have an uncle that raises horses and I spend time with him," I replied. I did have an uncle that raised horses but he lived in Michigan. I never said my uncle lived in Montana. I just let him add 1+1 and get 3. "He said drinking and driving?" said the tester. "Oh, that. They don't have an open container law there.  One time the licensed driver handed me an almost empty beer and told me to finish it because he wanted to watch me embark on a life of crime. I did. Later in a discussion Dad told me that if I never did it again I could tell people I quit drinking and driving when I was fourteen. I think it would be pretty cool to be able to tell people that when I'm forty so I never did it again and I won't. It's too good of a story." He shook his head. "Well it's illegal here." I bit my tongue. What I wanted to say was 'So is cutting the little tags off of a pillow' but why pick a fight? I relaxed a bit and figured the lecture was over. It wasn't. He continued telling me about the importance of following all the traffic signs. A sleepy voice was heard from the back seat. Dad went in for a headshot. "That boy has been trained very well and be more than careful  to obey the rules and regulations because I pointed out that most felony arrests are initialted with a simple traffic stop." He didn't know what to say for a few seconds and then turned to me and simply said, "Listen to your father. He's right. Take us back to the office." I made a turn and started back. Dad was now seated upright. I spoke to the tester. "There's one thing. This car has an automatic transmission. The other car at home has a manual and I usually drive that one with Dad. I don't want to get a restricted license," I said. He asked why we had not taken the Falcon. dad responded. "Because his kid brother left a striper on the back seat floor and the car stayed sealed up all weekend," Dad said. "I'll drive it back and forth with the windows open for a few days and then we can retest if we have to." Actually my brother had left a striper on the floor whe he was bringing his fishing tackle back inside the house but had pickked it up a few minutes later. The car went unused all weekend. "It won't be necessary," he said. He turned to my father. "I'll take you at your word." I'm sure he had visions of being stuck in a car that smelled of rotting fish and that by just not checking a box he would dodge a bullet. The real reason we didn't take the Falcon was that it was a rat. A crap can, a clunker, a shitbox, a real puss bucket. The only thing on it that was reliable was the cigarette lighter. It has a manual choke and a prescribed litany to get it started. The shifter was sticky, so was the clutch and it rattled. It should have been sent to the boneyard long beforehand. It served only two legitimate purposes. It took Dad back and forth to work and it was perfect for teaching me to drive on. That was it. As we drove back to the office he was filling out my paperwork. dad and the tester found a connection. The tester had served as an airplane mechanic and dad had been a bombardier during the war. They chatted as I drove. When we got back the tester handed me my paperwork. The dreaded 'Automatic transmission only' box was unchecked. I was good to go. Ten years later. I had gotten out of the Army and was home. Dad and I were having a beer and out of nowhere he asked me about drinking and driving. I said I had quit when I was fourteen. "Really?" "Yeah, really," I said. "It's too good of a tale to ruin it over a lousy beer." He laughed like hell. "Remember the fliver?" I asked. More laughter. He almost snarfed. "There were a couple of times I could have gotten rid of that and replaced it for free but I decided to keep it," he said. "It was such a shitbox that it was the perfect car to teach you to drive on. I figured if you could drive it then you would be able to drive anything. Besides..." "Besides what?" "Besides I never saw anyone have so much just plain fun as you when you were driving the damned thing! It showed on your face. I don't think I ever saw anyone as happy as you behind the wheel of that of crapcan. " Five year later he was gone. He left us too soon.

To find out why the blog is pink just cut and paste this: http://piccoloshash.blogspot.com/2009/12/my-feminine-side-blog-stays-pink.html NO ANIMALS WERE HARMED IN THE WRITING OF TODAY'S ESSAY