Daddy Let Me Drive

It's just an old worn out jeep
With rusty ole floor boards
Hot on my feet
A young girl, two hands on the wheel
I can't replace the way it made me feel
And he'd say, turn it left now, and steer it right
Straighten up girl now, you're doin' just fine.

Just a lil' valley by the river where we'd ride
But I was high on a mountain,
When daddy let me drive
Daddy let me drive
Oh, he let me drive

(Drive by Alan Jackson)

Teaching our daughter to drive was not my forte’. Acknowledging my ineptness, I passed the buck to Jim. Patient to a fault and having just finished a professional driving course through BellSouth he took her out to an abandoned airfield one rainy Saturday and put her through every grueling maneuver. 8 hours later my two adventurers returned home tired, hungry and happy.

Her daddy taught her to drive in a rusty little old Toyota $500 pickup truck that had resided at the bottom of a local farm pond for over a year.

It took her 4 tries to get that darn license and the girl still can’t back up straight. Inheriting her dad’s lead foot she received the first of many speeding tickets over her driving career less than 30 days later half a block from the high school.

“Rustie” was destined to be resurrected.

After draining out all the water and mud that little 30-R engine was run through with kerosene, hooked up to a battery and tank of gas and she fired up first turn of the key. The hood was black primer, one fender was grey and the rest of the body was dotted with rust from head to toe. The floor board became so holey Jim had to weld in a new one. (I remember getting wet feet when it would rain.) But, she ran like a charm.

Tune-ups and oil changes were a waste of time and money as she didn’t like them being done. Rascally truck would run rotten until she readjusted everything just the way she liked it...slightly off center…the dirtier the engine and the cheaper the gas the better she ran.

The manifold was haunted. Jim would repair or tape up the hole with heat resistant tape repeatedly only to find within days that it had reappeared. Towards the end of Rustie’s life you could hear her coming half a mile away.

When she died 10 years later on a highway in southern Louisiana…the rear axle literally rusted off…she had over 500 thousand miles on her. Half a day on the side of the road, Jim pulled that 30-R, hauled it home to SC, gave it to his mechanic brother and it lived another few years in a another little old rusted pickup truck driven by a niece.

After 3 years, my daughter cannot yet hear that song without thinking of Jim, driving lessons and that rusty old truck with tears in her eyes.

She is her father’s daughter…she still drives too fast.