Driving Home: A Point

 

 

 

 

car at night

Tonight, up our winding dirt road crossed by fog curtains, my oldest son practiced driving. Essentially skilled, he began tremulously and finished like a Nascar racer. Thus, with Apologies to Alfred Lord Tennyson and one of my favorite poems “The Eagle:

 

Is This Legal?

He grasps the wheel with crooked hands,
Close to his mom in lonely lands,
Ignoring all her careful plans.

The wrinkled road before him calls;
He grabs the clutch… and stalls.
Then, like a thunderbolt, he hauls………….!

sound effect

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8 Comments
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Mom
Guest
Mom
16 years ago

I’m sure that’s not quite the way that poem went when Clay recited it at the ripe old age of …. was it 3?

Mom
Guest
Mom
16 years ago

I’m sure that’s not quite the way that poem went when Clay recited it at the ripe old age of …. was it 3?

Staff
Member
16 years ago

I’ll never forget the sight of him jumping out of your armchair crowing, “And like a Funderboldt, he falls!”

max
Guest
max
16 years ago

Are you okay? Do you need candy? Or hair dye?

max
Guest
max
16 years ago

Are you okay? Do you need candy? Or hair dye?

Staff
Member
16 years ago

Chocolate….Lots of chocolate!