Wind in my Hair

I’m a Motown kind of girl. I simply don’t understand city people with their subways and taxis and no personal car of their own. I guess that’s because I grew up in the Midwest where cars are still King!

On my way to work, I watch kids with their hands peeking out the side windows of cars and remember the times when my little hands flew like airplanes as my dad flew down a two-lane highway at 70 MPH, the almost everywhere, legal limit, in those days.

I remember riding in my parents’ sedans, lying on that shelf thingy, high up behind the backseat. There, tucked under the rear window, I’d spend hours watching clouds, star-gazing, and, most importantly, escaping my pesky, little brothers. The night time glass was cool to my check; the air from the open windows rushed over me; and the sky was a picture for me alone. I’m still saddened by the memory of the day when I finally outgrew that magical niche and was forced to surrender it to my siblings.

We spent an enormous amount of time in the family car. My mom had brothers in California, Arkansas and Texas, and we visited them regularly. We once had a ladies-in-charge trip when my dad’s sister moved to Texas and my mom and I went as co-pilots, along with a cousin or two and possibly one of my brothers. I’d have to check old photos to check the who and the when for sure.

Any trip could be an adventure, but cross country trips were arduous journeys. The only way west (old Route 66) was a two-lane highway that wound through river valleys and mountains passes. It was like a long, long, not-so-much-fun, roller coaster ride. There were stretches of road with no gas stations or roadside diners at all. Rest stops were non-existent.

Dad was a pedal-to-the-metal, speed demon with a cast iron bladder. No matter how far we had to go, he’d do his darnedest to make the trip non-stop. It could be a miserable time when you’re a kid, but I can see now why it made sense. The faster we got there, the more time we had to visit, of course, and the cost of a motel was often beyond our means.

We were lucky to get a bottle of soda, a sit down meal or a bathroom stop when Dad was finally forced to pause for gas. I don’t think he ever had to push the car to the next gas station, but I’m sure we were on fumes more than once.

Mom was in charge of providing as much comfort as was possible. She got us to look for license plates from different states, played "I see something" or A-Z "in my grandma's trunk" games. She packed cookies and sandwiches in wax paper, and supplied coloring books and Crayolas, books, bears, and other toys. I don’t remember what we drank, but I imagine we did as little as possible because no one wanted to use the empty coffee can with a lid in the back seat. We kids soon learned to sleep, read, and otherwise entertain ourselves without antagonizing our parents because the threat of “don’t make me pull over” was very real!

Weather was a major factor in trip planning. Unless there was a funeral involved, trips in the winter were avoided as they meant extremely treacherous or closed roads. Summers also required diligent planning to avoid an overheated radiator and crabbier-than-usual passengers. Keep in mind; there were few cars with air-conditioning back then. Grandma had one, but we did not.

I started driving sometime between eighth and ninth grade. I might have been as young as 12 or 13 or as old as 14. I was, after all, a late bloomer. Had I lived on a farm like some of my cousins and friends, more than likely I would have been driving family cars, tractors and trucks much younger than that. I’m pretty sure my brother was younger than 13 when he began cruising the alleys and back roads of our hometown, and he’s still a much better driver and navigator than I am.

I envy today's kids who get to take driver’s ed. There’s so much I would feel more comfortable about if I’d had any kind of formal education or some sort of book-learning about cars and driving. I don’t even know if we had learner’s permits then because no one bothered you about having a license if they knew you were learning from your parents or friends on back roads or farm roads. The motto was Just don’t kill anybody!

I remember the first time I soloed; my dad had gotten into a bar fight and was sternly persuaded to leave the family car in the parking lot. He walked the few blocks home, woke me up and told me to go get the car. My prior driving experience had been more or less aiming the car home along empty, winding, country roads after well after midnight when he’d had too much to drink. I drove the whole way home without turning on the headlights because I didn’t know where the switch was and when I got home, I had to holler for mom to come out and set the parking brake because I’d never done that either.

I was 20 when I finally got my driver’s license. Dad said until I had my own car, there was no use in him having to go down to the license bureau twice to sign for us so he made me wait until my brother turned 16, and we got our licenses on the same day. My brother had taken me out the night before in mom’s car to practice.

I took my driving test with my grandfather’s cousin, and I was still as nervous as all get out about driving in daylight. We went down there in my mom’s ’61 Plymouth which was a huge, white, beast of a car that we’d nicknamed Moby Dick. Wayne made me parallel park at the end of the test and wouldn’t you know it; I tapped the bumper of the car ahead of me when I tried to pull back out. He passed me anyway, but told my dad not to let me out in traffic until I had more practice. Naturally, I didn’t listen at all, and as soon as we got back home, I jumped into my own car and headed over to my best friend’s house so we could go shopping downtown!

I bought my first car the day before I got my license. It was a 1957 Dodge convertible, push-button automatic, turquoise and white with fins that high! I paid $125 for it. I drove it for almost two years, and dented, banged and wrecked it several times before it finally met an untimely end in Dayton, Ohio. I loved that car and the freedom it gave me.

I know the changes in car designs, seat belts and other safety issues today are necessary on today’s highways, but I think kids miss out on a lot by riding around in steel bubbles. Yes, it is a dangerous world, and it was dangerous back then, too. I’m fairly certain our innocence and foolishness made it even more so.

But, oh my, there were dreams in a star-lit, rear window, and a song in my heart when I rubbed the sleep out of my eyes and saw an ocean instead of a mighty river. There was so much magic in the air when I flew down the road with the convertible top down.

And now is the time to roll down the all the windows and let the wind blow in my hair, again!