Drive On

Jacob is convinced he can drive. He thinks it’s “ridiculous” that he has to wait “six whole years” until he turns sixteen to get his license when he already drives “better than half the idiots on the road”. (Where he gets the idea that there are idiots on the road I dunno, ‘cuz I’d never toss that phrase around after being cut-off, nearly sideswiped, and tail-gated by every other idiot driver on the interstate.)

Whenever he goes on this rant, I calmly explain that “steering” isn’t the same thing as “driving”, and that go carts and bumper cars are nothing like I-40 at 70 miles an hour.

But here’s a little secret.

Sometimes his driving skills surpass my own.

Yeah, there’s no way I’m getting on that thing.


My tractor aversion is a huge relief for The Hubster, who’s convinced that all the repairs he’s made to the lawnmower this season are solely the result of my grass cutting skills. Nine years and about a bazillion blades of grass won’t cause any wear and tear so, yep, it’s gotta be my fault.


In addition to being one heck of a small engine mechanic, The Hubster’s also an excellent driving instructor.

Is there nothing that man won’t do to get out of a little yard work?

I wish everybody took their driving as seriously as this kid takes this tractor.

And he wishes I’d just get my stinkin’ camera outta his face so he could get back to what he wants to do most.

Drive on, son. Drive on.


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