Taking the Wheel

During the summer of 1968, my father decided to replace the engine of his 1963 Ford Fairlane.

There are those who understand the combustion engine and can easily diagnose and repair them. There are those that liken themselves a mechanic and fearlessly, but naively, dive in over their heads. My father was in the latter category. Every step of the way was wrought with difficulty. The engine needed to be hoisted out and he decided the garage rafters would serve this purpose. My mother was not impressed when the garage roof began to buckle and sway under the weight of the 8-cylinder engine. My dad spent the better part of several days reinforcing the garage roof. After all was in order, he and his brother lifted the engine out and it hung, suspended five feet off the ground, in our garage.

Then the car needed to be pushed out of the garage so a truck could be brought in to take the old engine away. Neither my father nor his brother could push and move the car alone. They needed a third person to sit behind the wheel to steer it to the front yard. Preferably someone light, like a six-year-old son. This is where I was enlisted to help.

You can imagine the excitement I had being drafted to actually sit behind the wheel of a real car and drive it. One of my favorite pastimes growing up was sitting behind the wheel of the family car and pretending to drive. I jumped in the car and my father gave me instructions where we were headed. With a grunt or two from my two man-power engine pushing in the back, the car began to move. About halfway down the driveway the whole thing began to get boring. There was hardly any steering involved at all. I decided it was time to start testing the pedals down below. One of them didn’t do anything, but the other one was quite rewarding. Every time I pushed the left pedal the car would slow down to an almost stop, the grunting would get louder and my dad would yell at his brother to push harder. I’d release the pedal and we would surge ahead a little faster. Then, I’d push the pedal again and the same thing would occur. It was after the third time my father appeared at the driver’s side window and asked if I had been pushing the brake pedal and told me in no uncertain terms to stop.

I think of the incident because it reminds me of educating young people. We want them to go from one place to another (through a four-year high school program) and we provide the vehicle (family, resources) and sometimes we need to push as well. Yet, in the end, the student is sitting behind the wheel and can push that brake pedal or turn the wheel in another direction. That’s when it’s time for a driver’s window conversation. My father could have continued to yell at his brother for not pulling his weight, but realized it was the student behind the wheel.

There are a lot of challenges today’s high school students face. Many serve as distractions which tempt them to veer off course or step on the brake. My prayer as we move forward with this school year is we continue to have the wisdom for those conversations, and they are effective as the one my father had with me!

Thank you for your support.