Bob Carry

Several days before my 15th birthday, my dad informs me that they have bought me a car. You can imagine the excitement I felt. He went on to say that it was being delivered on the morning of my birthday. I walked around to cloud nine and remember thinking, “Oh man, only rich people get their cars delivered to them; this must be quite the car!”

That morning, I stood in my parents’ driveway waiting for my car to arrive. My heart is pounding against my chest, in my mind I picture a red convertible sports car and can feel the wind blowing through my hair as I take that baby from 4th to 5th gear. I can hear the duel exhaust screaming as I put the accelerator to the floor. I got excited!! Several minutes later, I notice a tow truck coming down the street and to my amazement the driver pulled into my

parent’s drive way. It wasn’t my beautiful red sports car, it wasn’t car at all. I figured the tow truck driver had made a wrong turn and needed directions.

I walked up to the truck and in my most polite tone asked if I could help him. He said is he was looking for-and gave my address. I can only assume that all the blood must’ve drained from my face, because the driver asked if I was okay.

I couldn’t believe it! It wasn’t a red sports car like I had pictured in my mind. Instead, on the back of this tow truck sat a hideous, multi-coloured, 1972 Ford Courier pick up truck. “You’ve got to be kidding me, is this some kind of cruel joke?”