Do you know the Pony lad, the Pony lad, the pony lad?
Do you know the Pony lad, who doesn't drive a car?
Or a truck. The Pony, my youngest son, who at 17 still does not have his driver's license, though he has renewed him permit twice.
If you know the Pony lad, perhaps you could inform Farmer H of his driving status.
Thursday, after Farmer H and The Pony returned from engineering camp, Farmer H set out on his new used tractor to move some gravel down by the mailboxes. Our recent heavy rains keep swirling the gravel off the road, nigh on exposing a large metal pipe that runs under it for drainage. Gravel is expensive. Better to dig it out of the ditch and put it back than take up a collection from all the residents for truckloads of gravel.
I popped a meat loaf into the oven, because what tastes better to a Pony just back from engineering camp all week than a meat loaf? He also had corn on the cob and biscuits. So while they were cooking, I planned to sit down in the living room and hear about his week at camp. His phone rang.
"Dad needs me to drive the truck down to the mailboxes. He's got his tractor stuck in a ditch."
"Have you ever driven his truck before?"
"No. It can't be that much different than my truck."
Let the record show that it can. The Pony has a little Ford Ranger club cab. Hick has a 4WD Ford F250 Club Cab Long Bed.
Uh huh. He called The Pony to drive his 4WD Ford F250 Club Cab Long Bed down the partially-washed-out gravel road to help him. You know, the boy who doesn't have his driver's license yet. Let the record show that it was 5:10, get-off-work time that in-town folks come rushing home up that narrow gravel road.
I don't know how Farmer H thought The Pony could help. He can't really drive that truck well enough to pull a tractor out of a ditch. He can't drive a tractor being pulled out of a ditch. The Pony is not the #1 son, who started driving a go-cart at age 4, and a stick-shift Toyota at age 10.
No sooner had The Pony left (much to my consternation) than his phone, which he left charging, started to ring. Farmer H had freed himself. Still, The Pony was careening down that washed-out road on a possible date with disaster. The Pony arrived all safe and sound, which I found out when I called Farmer H and was told that he was currently turning that big old truck around for The Pony to drive it back home.
If you can't turn a truck around, I don't think you can use it to pull a tractor out of a ditch. I'm pretty sure there wasn't a question about that on the driver's permit test.
I know teenagers' frontal lobes aren't fully developed... I think men have the same problem, except theirs NEVER finishes developing.
ReplyDeletePerhaps The Pony is too scared about getting his license? Maybe he is worried that his father's driving ability was passed down--through the genes--to him?
ReplyDeleteSioux,
ReplyDeleteFrontal lobe, and emotional age, never fully mature in that subset of the population.
Sioux Part Deux,
Ooooh! You may have whacked that nail on the head, Madam. Perhaps you could lend your skills for the building of the Sword Shop. If only there was a blood test to determine such inheritance.