I bought my first car from my handsome and sweet grandpa.

I still remember taking my first drive down the backroads to pick up my cousin, JoAnne. I felt like a liberated adult. Sometimes I had to start it under the hood with a screwdriver. I’m sure some boy taught me how to do this properly, but I couldn’t ever remember exactly how so I just furiously stabbed in the general direction until it started, and then I put the charred starter screwdriver back into my glove box.  I made it home with this car about 40% of the time. The other 60% I left it dead on the side of the road and walked home. I walked many miles in my teen years. This was before cell phones. My poor mama.

This car also doubled as a closet for me and my friends. A very messy closet with lots of garbage in it.

And then I started dating Levi. His car was a bit nicer. I think we had to start his with a screwdriver too, but at least his made it home about 80% of the time.

My car met it’s end when Levi and my brother Floyd took it off-road on the mountain next to my mom and dad’s house. They couldn’t get it unstuck so they started it on fire instead.  My dad saw the fiery spectacle from the house and thought the boys were dead. My poor papa.

Thank the Lord for grace and mercy.