Weekly Posting of the Conservative Cow Doctor


More of Life’s Lessons

I do not remember where we found it, but when my middle daughter, Chelsie, turned 16 we purchased a 1967 Volkswagen bug for her transportation back and forth from school. I chose the bug for three reasons: First, it was slow; in a crash it could just barely kill you. Second, Chelsie would gain valuable stick-shift experience before I sent her up the mountain the following spring pulling a trailer load of horses with my pickup. Third, my brother, Blaine, drove one during the “impending ice age” phase of global warming in the ‘70s. When loaded with four bottoms and the rear wheels chained, you could rocket through snow drifts twice the size of the car. Global warming was a blast in a beetle with chains.

Chelsie had been driving a couple weeks when Mother Nature blanketed Laurel with six inches of light, fluffy snow. Tyler had the brilliant idea Chelsie should drag his sled up and down the street with the Volkswagen. Realizing this was a good opportunity to build experience driving on snow, I nodded approval if they limited their sled dragging to the pasture behind the house. All agreed. While the car warmed up, which never happens in a bug, Tyler lashed his sled to Chelsie’s bumper, opened the gate and they zoomed into the three acre pasture. Like chumming carp, a dozen or so laps around the pasture prompted Tyler’s buddies, Willie and Justin to come running with their sleds.

After a half-hour, Chelsie became bored, walked in the house and asked if Tyler could drive. He was probably ten, unlicensed and uninsured, but other than those small bumps in the road, I could not see the harm. Chelsie gave Tyler a very brief orientation about stick-shifts and wished him luck. Tyler slipped into the driver seat and popped the clutch just as Willie and Justin hit their sleds. The dark blue bug lurched forward. For ten-year-old boys, this was the perfect storm. The next time I looked out the window, two heads were bobbing up and down in the front seats of the bug now dragging two empty and one occupied sled. Very shortly, all three were riding in the circling car while three empty sleds skipped and danced in their wake. Each boy took turns clicking the blinkers, the windshield wipers, the head lights and periodically, the parking brake, but eventually, the fun wore off. Willie and Justin untied their sleds and Tyler drove the car back into the driveway. End of story.

With the first snow of every year, I fondly think back to that October morning drinking my coffee while watching three, ten-year-old boys discover driving a Volkswagen, or fiddling with the switches, was far more exciting than sledding. Life was much simpler then and I so yearn for the days when my concerns were always within an arm’s reach or a whistle and a holler. My children are raised, married and actively giving me grandchildren. I have nine on the ground, one in shipment for delivery in February, and two or three more on manufacturer’s backorder. In a couple years, I will buy an old Volkswagen bug for when my grandchildren reach the stick-shift age. You see, in addition to wood fired cook stoves, I think youngsters should be skilled at running a clutch, another trait rapidly approaching extinction.

My point is to concerned grandfathers. We have allowed America to progressively become a Marxist nightmare which is enslaving our grandchildren with debt and dependency. The recent election reveals our numbers are too small to alter our tragic course, so America’s restoration along with our enormous debt will fall to our descendants. Teach them what our generation never learned.


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