Kids for Cars

 

I've never owned a child, so I'm not familiar with the steps they take from birth to thinking they can talk to grownups as if they know something.

On Saturday the folks in the 5800 block of our street organized a block party. It was the best of two things. A block party, and it didn't inconvenience me at all, because I live on the 5900 block. However, I did pitch in with one little thing. I drove my 1929 Ford down the alley and parked it in the middle of the 5800 block for the kids to examine. As the little children lined up to sit in it and touch it, I got to see how each age group related to such an old car. The first kid was probably not even two years old yet. Her mom lifted her up into the car and sat her in front of the giant steering wheel. Cute as could be, so I told her to press the little button in the middle of the steering wheel. Tiny little fingers tried and tried, but couldn't do it.

"Use your whole hand honey. That's right, now press." Mom said helpfully.

It surprised the kid at first when the car suddenly honked out a wheezy 'Ah-ooooh-ga'. Then she started giggling excitedly and pressed it again, and again.

"My turn, my turn.",  screamed a slightly older child, while another whined and cried out. A line formed and one by one each kid got to sit in the car and make the noise. "Ah-ooooh-ga!" I turned to one of the adults and asked if they had jumper cables ready (ha, ha). At the end of the line of kids were two older boys. About ten or eleven years old. They jumped into the car and immediately rolled up the windows and laid on the horn. I knew they couldn't really hurt anything. It simply made me happy to see kids interested in an old car.

When the two older boys finally had their fill and jumped out  of the car, one of them asked me, "How can you drive that without seat belts? It's illegal."

"It's grandfathered in." I told him, and explained what grandfathered meant. "It also doesn't have turn signals, or airbags."

The kid looked at me and said in a very assured voice, "That's illegal. You can't drive a car like that on the street."

Geez, what a little shithead I thought. Mostly  because he reminded me of when I was fifteen and our neighbor, Mr. Soltis was complaining about somebody speeding down our street. I, mister smarter than the adult, educated Mr. Soltis on speed limits.

"There is no speed limit sign on our street, so you can go up to forty five miles per hour." I informed him. Mr. Soltis didn't actually call me an asshole, but the tone of his voice said it all.

"Speed limit on a residential street is twenty miles per hour, whether there is a sign posted or not. You better learn it before you go for a driver's license."

He then turned away from me and continued to chat with the actual adults.