A few years ago it was not hard for me to imagine a life where I could not rely on myself to get where I needed to go. Suppose it was imperative that an individual get to the bank to cash their paycheck, or trying to get to a friend’s house but with no one to drive you there. Recalling my younger years it was my belief that my sixteenth birthday would be one of the greatest days of my life.
Waking up before the sun had risen was a rarity for my in that particular time, but I had no problems doing it on that glorious morning. I had been learning to drive for over six months and was ready to start a new part of my life where mobility was a much less complicated problem. But when one problem disappears another, often, will emerge. I had no car, but I did have a license, which was like salt in an open gash.
After waiting very patiently for one more year, I finally received the ultimate gift. I had been given a 1966 Willies Jeep that my dad had bought from a family friend, and needless to say it was not in the best of condition. By most standards the Jeep would have been considered a rust box with wheels, but in retrospect I could have cared less. I owned my first automobile, and to me it didn’t matter what the car looked like as long as it served it purpose as a mode of transportation. As soon as I saw the jeep I immediately grabbed the keys from my fathers grasp and ran for the ignition. Firing up the in-line six cylinder engine sounded like the roar of a savage beast to me, but probable sounded more like the put-put of an old jalopy to anyone other than myself. The interior had seen better days, and the seats probably would looked more in place if they were sitting at the bottom of a dumpster rather than in my car. I often suggested to my friends that they receive a tetanus shot before they hopped into the back seat, if it could be considered that anymore, due to the fact that the sharp springs were prot