My west coast brother informed me that, in addition to being Flag Day, today is also Family History Day. So, in honor of the occasion, I will share a story that my father told me about his childhood. The year was 1919 and little Freddie was three years old. Every Saturday morning he would board the train with his mother to travel about 12 miles from their small town to the next one. He was terrified of the big noisy engine and his mother had to keep him in the station until the train was stopped. They would board the train, ride the 12 miles, and when they got off, be met by his grandpa in the surrey (not sure if it had a fringe on top or not). Grandpa would drive them to the farm where my dad's mother would spent the day helping her mother with the house cleaning. On Sunday, my dad's father would drive over in their Model T to pick them up and bring them home. I've always been fascinated by the fact that, in one weekend, my father traveled by train, buggy and car.
PS: Nine years later, (yes, hew was only 12) Freddie drove the family to Detroit (a distance of about 160 miles). That's how he learned to drive.
No comments:
Post a Comment