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Wrong Car

March 5, 2013

This is an excerpt from my second book, “Memory Harvest of a Sharecropper’s Son,” which is now available in Amazon Kindle format and in printed format. This story is about getting in the wrong car.

In the late 40s, most people in Texas did not lock their car doors. Many cars also looked alike because there were few colors. Most cars were black.

We went into Weatherford, Texas and parked on the square one Saturday afternoon. We met Dad’s brother and some of his family there.

After wandering around town for about an hour, I bought a 10-cent comic book (probably Batman). I returned to the car and crawled into the back seat. I sat there reading my comic book waiting for Mom, Dad and the others.

“What are you doing in my car?” I heard a strange voice ask. I looked up and a man I did not know was standing next to the driver’s door and talking to me.

I looked puzzled and said, “It’s our car.”

The man laughed and pointed two cars over and said, “There is probably your car. It looks just like this one.”

I looked down under the edge of the front seat and my ball glove was not where I had left it. I crawled out of the car with a sheepish feeling and looked where he was pointing. I walked over and looked in and saw my ball glove under the edge of the front seat.

I got in the back seat feeling very embarrassed. I didn’t want to tell Dad about the embarrassing incident, but later that evening I told him. A funny look came over his face and he said that once he had crawled in the wrong car and put his key in the ignition. It went in, but would not turn on. He was flabbergasted and thought something was wrong with the car, when he noticed a strange hat in the back seat. He got out and found our car just down the block.

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