Longing for the days of lawlessness
Greetings from the Ridge.
I miss the desperadoes, the days of lawlessness.
When I was a youngster living in a farm community the legal rights were fudged a bit because of pure necessity when it came to driving. While the law books said that a young man or woman had to be 16years old, the fact was that if your legs were long enough to reach the pedals of your dad’s pickup truck or his John Deere, you were okay to drive. Schools taught drivers’ education, but it was almost laughable when a kid from a farm climbed behind the Drivers’ Ed wheel for the first time. The textbook said that an hour or so should be spent getting the student familiar with where to find the ignition switch and headlights, then how to work the clutch. When a farm boy climbed into the driver’s seat the teacher could pretty much open up his newspaper and read for the next hour since the kid could not only drive with skill, but if he’d had a wagon attached to the rear bumper he was able to maneuver the vehicle down a dirt road at fifty miles an hour... in reverse.
Every policeman in the county knew this and when he’d see a four-ton grain truck coming at him with a tiny head barely poking up above the steering wheel, the cop would simply wave and smile. The kid knew what he was doing and in fact he might be one of the better drivers on the road. Pure lawlessness bordering on anarchy, and it worked.