27/05/2026
"We learned to drive before we could reach the pedals, and our backup camera was a stiff neck and a prayer."
We didn't start with a sedan.
We started with a rusted tractor in a dusty field.
You were twelve years old and barely hit eighty pounds.
The clutch was made of solid iron and stubbornness.
You had to stand up and use your entire body weight just to shift.
There was no power steering.
Turning the wheel felt like wrestling a giant.
If you stalled it, the kickback nearly broke your knee.
Dad didn't give you a manual.
He gave you a nod and told you to get to work.
Now kids need a beeping sensor to tell them a trash can is five feet away.
They have mirrors that light up when a fly passes them.
We didn't have sensors.
We had the sound of gravel and the fear of hitting the fence.
Our driving school was a hundred-acre field and a heavy left foot.
