Memories

Memories are wonderful things.  Some are good, some are bad, but regardless, they're wonderful. Why would I say bad memories are wonderful things?  Sometimes the even taught a much needed lesson.  Sometimes the dreaded situation drew families closer together instead of apart.  One of my favorite people once told me the 1930's were her favorite time in life.  Yes, they were hard but everyone worked together was what she remembered.

Something reminded me this morning of a fond memory in Rolla, Missouri many years ago.  Our eldest son had just learned to drive and one night he asked to take his dad's new Datsun (Nissan nowadays) pickup to the college gym.  Dad gave his permission even though there was still lots and lots of snow on the ground.

Our son hadn't been gone very long when he came walking back to the house.  He'd gone to a country lane up the hill from our house to pick up a friend.  When he tried to turn the truck around, he drove it into a snow-filled ditch.  (Told you there was a LOT of snow that night.)  The ditch was level with the road on top of the snow, but a couple of feet deep underneath.

We put on coats, boots, gloves, etc. and walked the short distance through knee deep snow in the field between our house and the lane.  Try as we might, we were unable to get that truck out of the ditch.  Datsun's weren't much heavier than aluminum foil, but it was stuck.

Fortunately, a couple of men drove by in a heavier truck with a heavy chain and pulled us out.  Our son handed his dad the keys, muttering, "I guess you'll never let me drive again."

"You have to learn sometime," was his dad's response.

The 16 year old's face glowed with gratitude.  "Thanks.  You want a ride home?"

"Heck, no!" exclaimed his dad.  "You think I'm crazy?"

With that we trudged back through the knee deep snow to the comforts of home while two 16 year olds went off safely to the gym to play basketball.

That's a fond memory of Rolla, Missouri.