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Note: I've been working on this part of the memoir for several weeks, and I think it's finally ready to be posted here. I'm still not finished with it, but I'll get there. You'll notice it gets progressively more detailed as I go through the grades, because my memories get fresher and more vivid. And the parts that are boring are supposed to feel that way, because I was bored during those parts of my life. Also, it's very long, so I don't expect us to get through it all in just a few meetings.
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Note: Much like my motocross piece, this will be ongoing, especially since I haven't had a lot of time to write lately. At least my weeks-long episode of writer's block is over. This stuff is also for the memoir. Also, this time I won't hesitate to post some graphic images of my hunts, because I had a discussion with a few of my hunter buddies and they said I ought to expose people to that stuff. I'll make the pictures small, so it isn't too shocking.
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When my grandpa was a teenager, around 15, he found himself driving a tractor down an old dirt road, wondering about his future. He thought about if he'd marry and have kids, and how that would be. He wondered what kind of jobs he'd take. Would he stay on the farm in North Dakota, or would he go to college and end up in the city, possibly in another state? Would he have grand kids? If so, how would they turn out?
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Note: Very rough and unpolished, but still centered around a topic.
My dad started teaching me how to drive when I was 14 years old. We were visiting family out on the farm in Minnesota, and he wanted me to drive. We had driven up from our home in Colorado, to the little farming community just northwest of Rochester, Minnesota, for my cousin Andy’s high school graduation party.
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