By Delynda Pilon

There is nothing so enchanting to a young man as a car, so when our own sports’ columnist, Rob Ficiur, offered his car to my son Dallas, he was thrilled.
Rob warned Dallas that this chariot needed some TLC. He told him it uses more oil than gas and that what’s left of the clutch tends to be cranky once in a while, but Dallas didn’t hear any of that. All he saw was that lovely little blue car lit up in beams of glory - and actually I think he heard choruses of angels singing too - or in his case, maybe it was choruses of electric guitars played by long-haired tattooed men - whichever.
Anyway, the battery was dead so moving the car took some work. Even with a boost, the battery wasn’t doing much especially with Dallas so impatient to get his new baby home. But, after about 20 minutes, everyone knew it just wasn’t happening right away. After borrowing a charger from another Rob (Burgess), the guys decided to push the car back up the slighly inclined drive so it would be off the street, leave it on the charger overnight, then try again in the morning.
Dallas’s disapointment was so thick it hung over him like a cloud. He sat behind the wheel of the car, long-faced.
“You know, it’s kind of tradition to let the girl drive while you push,” I said in an attempt to get him moving.
He glowered at me for a second then got his girlfriend, Kaitlyn, behind the wheel of the car while him and Rob got on the tail end, grunting and shoving with all their might to get it back up the small rocky incline.
I supervised the entire event.
After a few moments of straining, they got the car moving, red-faced as it rolled up about 20 feet.
Dallas: (to Kaitlyn) Brake!
The guys let go and the car began rolling with much more momemtum and force backwards. They both grabbed it, but it’s weight was greater than their strength, and it began pushing them.
Dallas: (to Kaitlyn) Brake! Brake!
Kaitlyn: Which brake???
Me: (Laughing uncontrollably.)
Dallas: The other brake! The other brake!
Kaitlyn, who had never been behind the wheel of a standard before finally realized she was pushing the clutch, not the brake, and after hitting the right pedal, the car stopped its decline.
Me: (Still laughing.)
Rob: Of course the one who’s laughing isn’t in danger of being run over.
Me: (Slowing to a giggle.) This is all good. I needed something for next week’s column.
Rob: That’s what worries me.
Anyway, eventually Dallas got his car home. Now him and his friends spend considerable time in the back boosting the car and letting her purr, making plans about rebuild kits and new clutches and all sorts of things. I don’t mind. At least when they start her up the smoke from the engine kills all the no-see-ums and mosquitos in our back yard.