By the age of fourteen I was a confident driver of cars, tractors and trucks. That is how it is in the country. Note the word is confident, not skilful.
I suppose I was sixteen and it was not too long after my father and step mother got together.
I hurt my mother deeply when I told her that I wanted to live with my father and step mother in the local town and not stay with her on the farm. My father still attended the farm daily, but always went back to step mother at night. But I wanted the bright lights of the local town and I was determined. It was not a choice between mother and father, but a choice of isolation on a farm and town.
So, I did as I wished and moved to live with my father and step mother.
I thought it would be a nice thing to do while step mother and father were away, that is wash step mother's Morris Minor. I subsequently learnt that every time it was washed, a little bit more of the paint work came off.
I reversed it along the driveway and swung it onto the lawn and gave it the wash of its life. It was gleaming. I drove back to its undercover, straight over the garden tap. Yep, we had a geyser happening. I turned the main tap off and paced in terror.
My similarly aged step sister was there and she was terrified of what my father would say while I was terrified not of my what my father would say, but of what my step mother would say.
My step sister and I did not know our future step parents very well at this early stage.
Step Mother and Father returned, I told Dad what had happened and he went and fixed the tap. Next day, my step mother thanked me for washing the Morrie.
I recall being a little puzzled as to why I did not get into trouble. I understand a bit a better now.
(originally written 05/09/08)