My Hometown

My Hometown

My First Car

When any boy turns 16, they only want two things for their birthday; their driver license and their first set of wheels.

Like many of the guys in my hometown, I had been groomed by my dad to drive a pick-up truck.

I was raised learning the ins and outs of driving on my dad’s rusty old, 1970 Chevrolet C10 pick-up.

If it was too cold outside, you had to treat it with tender care to get it started.

If it was too hot outside, you’d have to carry a gallon of water with you just in case it overheated.

But man did I have a feel for that truck the way that a Nascar driver has for his car on race day.

So when my dad started hinting around my birthday about a new truck, I was excited to say the least.

I watched him as he slowly flipped through the automobile section of the Sunday newspaper; studying every page and every deal that was out there.

He talked to my mom about the prices, the safety features, and budgets.

He and my grandpa even went to visit a few of the car lots in the area, and they wouldn’t let me tag along.

The night before my birthday, I could hardly sleep.

All day at school I bragged about my new wheels to my friends.

When I got home, parked in our driveway was a brand-new Chevrolet C1500 Silverado.

The sun hit the black coat of paint just right.

I raced inside, but tried to contain my excitement as best as I could.

Grandma was sitting in the kitchen with my mom, dad, and sister.

By the time that grandpa got there a half hour later, I was already one foot out the door when my dad said “let’s go outside and look at your gift son!”

I raced out the door and my grandpa handed me a set of keys to his 1980 Buick LeSabre and said “Happy Birthday, I had it washed for ya and got the oil changed.”

I stood dumbfounded, until grandpa, my dad, and I walked over to the Silverado and my grandpa showed us all of the cool features, such as power windows and locks, that his brand new truck had in it.


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