I almost killed my grandma...

The year was 1989. She had turned 60 that year.

Grandma had driven her big ol' fire-engine-red Ford pickup truck all the way down from Grand Portage,MN to make her yearly-summer visit. She would stay a week with us, a week with my Aunt Rachel & family and a week in Kenosha/Racine to visit Uncle Danny & Aunt Barb.

Berry season was in full bloom in Dunbar and that was a favorite past time of ours. Mom and dad would take the afternoon off at the bar and we would all go berry picking...well, I went berry "eating" and I'm sure I rarely had anything in my bucket by the end of the excursion, but that is besides the point!

I had just turned 9 years old when the accident happened

Dad had an old 1969 Chevy 1/2 ton pickup truck. It was five-speed on the column and the steering wheel was 4 feet in circumference (I swear it was that big)

(this is not the actual truck)

Dad's was a terrible shade of avocado green accented with lots of rust. Along the driver side rear panel there was a 2 1/2 ft band aid bumper sticker that said "OUCH" covering up a patch of rust. And I'm not sure if at that time the pickup bed was falling off or if that happened later down the road. The interior had a single bench seat all the way across and it was super bouncy like a trampoline or an old couch when you can't quite feel the springs poking through yet but there's not much padding left. Please stay with me this is all very relivant to the story!

Okay- so we're all out picking berries on Fire Lane 520 off of Camp 12 Road in Dunbar. We're walkin' and pickin' (eatin') and going further down the road talking and minding our own. Dad must have looked up and realized that we were getting pretty far from the truck and yelled "hey, herman" (yes, herman is my nickname) go pull the truck up. You can't even imagine my immediate excitement and panic all at the same time. Mom had been trying to teach me to drive her little Chevy car just incase something were to happen to her when were alone somewhere but never had I driven dad's truck. I didn't even know how to start it or what to do. Dad said "just get in and start it- it's already in gear just step on the gas a little and drive it up here". I remember whinning a little and not wanting to do it out of fear but did it anyways because dad said so. I trudged along kicking rocks while I walked the 100 yards back to the truck. It felt like it was 15 feet tall as I stood next to it to open the drivers door. Bouncing up and down a while on the seat I realized that I couldn't reach the pedals without sitting on the very edge and even then it was just a tippy toe. I also couldn't see over the four foot circumference steering wheel- but I could see through it. After a few seconds of deep breathing, I turned the key, the truck started rumbling and I slowly eased my tippy toe onto the gas pedal. I had to sit very aukward to reach the pedal,steer and see over the dashboard, but I thought I was doing great. The trees & bushes along side the truck were rushing by at 2 miles per hour and I was in my own little world- probably imagining driving over to Melaine's on my own to play barbies. All of a sudden my attention was diverted to a whole lot of yelling and looking forward all I saw was bushes in front of me, a berry basket go flying up in the air and grandma running like she's never run before. In my barbie daze I had slowly inched off the road and into the woods where grandma was pickin'. I knew which pedal was the break, so I threw both feet, butt off the seat, onto it... just in time.

Needless to say- that was my last time driving until I grew a few more inches but we've got a family story that will make us laugh our buns off forever!