The Old Car

I am 81 years old in this July of 2026. I’m thinking about the past and calling up memories.

My  very first memory is crisp and clear in my mind. I was three years old  when I walked out onto the screened-porch  in our first little house.   I saw my daddy drive up in a car that didn’t belong to us.

 I asked in an upsetting voice which became a scream,“Where is the old car?!!!! I want the old car!!!”

I remember his jovial face as he laughed at me. I found out that he had had a fender bender in the “old car” and had to drive home in a car from the dealership. I still wasn’t happy. My daddy had been in a wreck in our small town of around two thousand people.

That  was a lot for a three year old to process.

I don’t know why my earliest memories are so vivid I can still feel my smooth little hands spread out on the roughness of the screen.

I remember my daddy in his suit and tie and his teasing demeanor.  He didn’t sympathize with my distress. He thought the whole scene was funny but then he reassured me that the “old car” would return and I could stand up on the front seat right next to him and worry no more because we would be together in the old car and that’s all that really mattered to me.

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