RIDING TO TOWN ON THE BUMPER I wonder whether I was destined to spend a lot of my life in schools. First of all, I was born in what used to be a rural schoolhouse, about three miles north of Hay Springs, Nebraska. It was converted into a small, but livable enough house, and when I went to see it, as an adult, it truly looked like “a little house on the prairie,” with no evidence of any trees that might’ve stood nearby, all those years ago. When I was five, and living southeast of Hay Springs, I was feeling very impatient to go to school, and figured that shoe-tying must surely be a prerequisite to entry. I had that down pat, and couldn't understand why my friend Jimmy, who couldn't tie his, had been allowed into kindergarten. Finding this very difficult to accept, but also knowing that no one said that I could go, I decided that it was up to me to make it happen! Dressed in tan coveralls, I hid behind a big elm tree while Daddy started the car and my brothers and sisters (except Jerry, who was staying home sick that day) hopped in. Hurriedly, I left my hiding place to scramble up onto the back bumper, where I planted myself firmly, clutching its rather pointy chrome edge on both sides of my skinny hind end with all my might. My dad pulled out of the muddy yard into the muddier, bumpier road, completely unaware of his extra "passenger" (and candidate for kindergarten). Just about then, Mom and Jerry looked out the window to wave goodbye, saw me perched there on the bumper, and Mom screamed frantically for us to stop, but no one heard her. Certain that I would fall, as Daddy drove over that bumpy dirt road, Mom ran to the phone to call the neighbors, hoping to have them intercept us on our way past their house. No one answered the phone.
My cover was nearly blown once, when my sister Pat told Daddy, "There's an old gunny sack or something caught on the back of the car." Evidently my tan coveralls had proven to be quite an effective camouflage! Daddy said something about removing it in town, and continued on down the road, the edge of the bumper gouging me in the rear end with every rut in the road. It's good that my dad drove rather slowly and cautiously, because I remained on the bumper the entire two and one-half miles to town. I felt just a little smug, having nearly accomplished my goal; however, our trip was cut short within only three blocks of school, when Daddy was hailed by a concerned bystander (Howard Reno), who asked him, in his usual nasal twang, “Do you know you’ve got a kid on the back of your car?” Grateful that the ride was over, I slid meekly down from the bumper and presented myself to Daddy. He was too shocked (and relieved) to be as angry as he might've otherwise been, but he did let me know in no uncertain terms that such tactics wouldn't be tolerated in the future. While he scolded me, I listened attentively and then turned to follow the other kids up the hill to school. Again, my attempt was thwarted. My dad wanted to know where in the world (he used stronger language) I thought I was going, and it took another lecture for me to realize that I hadn't, after all that effort, earned the right to go to school yet. Instead, we returned home, to a much-relieved mother.
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