A Letter From My Dad

A letter from my dad. One stormy January afternoon while I was in my senior year at college I received a phone call from him 'ordering' me to catch a bus and come home that night. I did, of course, and when I got there I found that he had bought me a new 1963 little red Corvair to drive for my quickly approaching student teaching assignment. Three problems: 1. I had to be back in classes (90 miles away) the next morning. 2. There was a blizzard outside. 3. The car was a 'four on the floor' and I had only driven automatics. We bundled up and I got behind the wheel and he in the passenger seat. We started up Shortridge Road toward Washington Street (Hwy 40), turned left and drove to Kitley Ave. where I did my best at 'clutching' and shifting gears going north on Kitley. When he thought I had proven that I knew what to do, we turned around and came home. I drove back to Terre Haute the next day, made it to class on time, then took time to check out my new car. This letter was in the glove compartment. Dad had left me written instructions re: the car. (More proof of his penmanship and 'gentle' advice.)