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The so-called flat tire My daddy is 93 and still tells this story. Of course he tells it better than I can. I was 18 months old, my mother was seven months pregnant, and we were coming home in a white 1954 Ford with a blue roof. We had been on a Christmas visit to the grandparents nearly 500 miles away. It was raining, and I had been sick. In those days before child safety seats, my mother had me lying down on the front seat with my head in her lap. I had thrown up so many times she finally just laid a towel over her maternity dress for me to lay my face on. We were already back in our home county, only a few miles from home, when a tire went flat. Daddy got out to change it in the dark while Mama and I stayed in the car. When he got done and started to drive on, they knew right away something was wrong. Daddy was asking himself, “How could we possibly have another flat tire?” Well, we didn’t. In the dark, in the rain, he had changed the wrong tire. Dana Sanderson Holden |
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