When I was a first-grader in rural Virginia, my school bus was driven by a fifteen-year old high-school student.
He was the son of our landlord, and racing other school buses on the 12-mile trip to school every day was only one of the amusing things he did with us all riding in the back.
I still remember that big, long, bent gearshift handle sticking up out of the floor. It’s transmission sounded like that of a bread truck.
The good old days.
You probably played with balls of mercury from broken thermometers too.
Hard to believe we’re still alive, isn’t it?