Rock-Tober: Day 24

When a kid hits a certain age and gets his driver's license, sometimes he inherits the old family sedan. I was fortunate that this was the case for me. I was doubly fortunate that the old family sedan was a '70 Mustang with a 302.

Mom and Dad were understandably nervous as they passed me the keys, and they had one adamant rule: No racing!

So, one day I find myself at the drag strip. I figured I'd make a couple of runs and call it a day with no one the wiser. Well, I wind up winning a 1st place trophy.

Now I'm really torn. I decide I've got to come clean. At home I tell Mom about my day at the track, and she was not amused. Crap.

"We told you not to race that car! When your dad gets home you know you're going to have to face him." Double crap.

So what does all this have to do with the psychedelic, drug addled song, "Magic Carpet Ride"?

Going full throttle was an awesome feeling. It still is. I could swear there's a certain speed where the pitch of the engine's drone kicks endorphin production into high gear. In that sense, speed really is a drug and the 'Stang just happens to be the "Magic Carpet".

After sweating bullets all afternoon, Dad finally gets home and starts trimming a hedge in the backyard. I walk over to him slowly and tell him I took the Mustang to the track. As he turns to face me, his brow gets furrowed, he plants his hands on his hips, and I'm feeling about two feet tall.

Then his expression changes. He raises an eyebrow, "Did you win?"

"Umm, I, uh, beat a Camaro..."

"A Camaro?"

"I got a trophy...."

"You got a trophy?"

"...uh...and a case of oil..."

"Hmph. OK. Don't do it again." And he turns around and goes back to trimming the hedge.

Easily in my Top 5 Father - Son moments!