Our Family Car
© By Grady L. Duncan
There once was a time not long ago,
when life was much simpler than now, by far;
those days when the family went to town,
We all would pile in that old family car.
Daddy would get behind the steering wheel.
Mother would set over by the other door.
She would hold the baby cuddled in her lap,
but that wasn’t all, there were several more.
Daddy would take a toddler up in his lap,
managing somehow to drive with just one hand;
Or, the little one would stand, attempting to steer,
laughing and thinking he was doing something grand.
Between mom and dad, two more would be seated;
one of the little ones and one up in years,
who held the smaller one who sat on his knee,
while with his free hand he, sometimes, shifted the gears.
(That was just the front seat)
Cousins and neighbors rode in the back;
seated three abreast with one on each lap.
We headed for town, down those rough roads.
Everyone heard us coming in that old rattle trap.
If we met a hitch-hiker that wanted a ride,
Dad would say, “Jump on the running board!”
“We’ll all get there if the wheels stay on.”
“There’s no load too big for this old Model “A” Ford.”
The more load it carried, the smoother the ride.
When we hit a bump it was too heavy to bounce.
The roads were so rutted and full of pot holes
We were all very thankful for each and every ounce.
No driver’s licenses, no insurance, nor seat belts required;
no laws to determine how many could ride;
we could do what was expedient for that day and time,
our demands to be met with our conscience as a guide.