It was a quite chilly but sunny morning in July. 

That summer of 1972. I was fourteen.

Learning to drive my dad’s jeep on the family farm.

It was his pride and joy: a vintage WWII jeep.

If the jeep won’t start,

never use the throttle,

you can use the choke,

my dad always said;

mind my words,

now don’t you forget,

don’t throw caution to the wind,

or you could end up dead!

On that fateful morning, my mom was at the clothesline.

My youngest sister, Nina, was playing in the yard.

Sometimes she came with me in the old WWII jeep.

Lady Luck looked down on me: I clambered in alone.

My dad always said,

if the jeep won’t start,

never use the throttle,

you can use the choke;

remember what I say,

keep it in mind always,

don’t go off half-cocked,

what I say is no joke!

After many tries the engine would not turn over.

I used the choke repeatedly but to no avail.

The verboten throttle seemingly beckoned to me.

Under its spell I pulled it out and then turned the key.

You can use the choke,

my dad always said,

if the jeep won’t start,

never use the throttle; 

the jeep is not a toy,

don’t forget this warning,

because you may well regret,

for you sure ain’t no Aristotle! 

At that moment, the engine leapt to life and at full speed headed toward the gas tank that sat at the corner of the old stone-and-wood garage. It took all my strength to turn the steering wheel and point the projectile toward the middle of the stubbled field. Bounce, bounce, bounce! The runaway jeep with its teenage driver at the controls was headed toward the swamp, where I reasoned that it would get bogged down and come to a stop. In retrospect, I was cool and calm considering I was in a deathtrap. Then it occurred to me that the jeep could well be stopped by running into one of the trees to the north of the swamp, where it seemed bent on heading despite my hands gripping the well-worn steering wheel.

An idea came to me just then:

 jump out of the jeep as if parachuting from an airplane;

I crouched in the driver’s doorway,

(which was always latched back and open when in use), then jumped out into space,

the ground whirling by in a blur;

rolling over at least once,

         landing on my back, looking up at the clouds above,

reflecting on my great fall from grace;

Is the boy injured

or is he just dead?

His dad’s words ringing

in his throbbing head.

The sky had never seemed so blue, nor the world cast in such a heavenly hue; the cotton clouds never appeared so white, nor had the sun ever been so bright. “I am dead,” I thought to myself.

Hallelujah! You will now get your wings!

An angelic voice from the heavens sings!

Then I was brought out of my reverie by the realisation that I was not breathing; the breath had been knocked out of me by my tumble from the heavens. Gratefully, I drew in a series of deep breaths and then sat up. The jeep was nowhere in sight, but a whining, metallic sound could be heard coming from the scrubby area to the northwest of the swamp.

My mother running, now came into sight.

The jeep could be heard but was out of sight.

My mom and I went in search of the runaway jeep. We followed its tracks through the mushy swamp land and saw the scrubby bushes that had been flattened. The whine of the jeep’s engine could be heard more clearly now, and, in the distance, we could see what we were looking for. The jeep had been stopped by a sturdy sapling tree and under the weight, the tree was bent over. The engine whined on stridently, the sound painful to the ears.

Mother bravely reached in and turned off the key.

The silenced jeep seemed to be reproaching me.

My mother and I departed the rather eerie scene. When back home, my mom called my dad at work. Ever calm and kind, my dad not then nor later ever expressed anger or disappointment that his beloved WWII jeep – which had survived the battlefields of Europe – had met its demise due to a teenage boy who had not listened to his father and pulled out the throttle instead of the choke.

 

As my mother told my dad

over the phone about the mishap

and what had taken place,

what she failed to mention to him

was my parachuting out of the jeep

and my spectacular fall from grace.

Dad stating: “And to think that he was at the wheel until the very end,

                   without having any injuries nor broken bones to mend!”

Mom laughing: “Your son jumped out when the jeep was still in the field;

                       if he hadn’t done that our son could have been killed.”

Later my father and I went to look at the jeep that was still resting on the bent-over sapling. My dad shook his head and said that it was almost certain the WWII Jeep was destined for the scrapyard.

Father: “Why didn’t you just turn off the key?” 

Son: “Because it never occurred to me!”

Fade Out: Sentimental Journey. As Times Go By. Moonlight Serenade. We’ll Meet Again.