Not in the clamor of the crowded street, not in the shouts and plaudits of the throng, but in ourselves, are triumph and defeat.--Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
REDIRECT ALERT! (Scroll down past this mess if you're trying to read an archived post. Thanks. No, really, thanks.)
Due to my inability to control my temper and complacently accept continued silliness with not-quite-as-reliable-as-it-ought-to-be Blogger/Blogspot, your beloved Possumblog will now waddle across the Information Dirt Road and park its prehensile tail at http://possumblog.mu.nu.
This site will remain in place as a backup in case Munuvia gets hit by a bus or something, but I don't think they have as much trouble with this as some places do. ::cough::blogspot::cough:: So click here and adjust your links. I apologize for the inconvenience, but it's one of those things.
Thursday, September 11, 2003
Fla. toddler drives car into motel room
TAMPA, Fla. (AP) -- A 2-year-old boy slipped out of his mother's locked motel room, climbed into the family car and accidentally drove it through a door and window and into the room, authorities said....as he proceeded to shackle the toddler hand and foot...
Hopkins had left the unlocked car in first gear, and it lurched forward about eight feet when Rex started the vehicle, crashing through a door and window at the Red Roof Inn and causing about $2,000 in damage, Reder said.Persistent little cuss, ain't he?
Hopkins declined comment. She won't be charged.Who likes to drive. Then again, who doesn't?
Reminds me of a story. (Of course)
1964. Small green cedar-shake house, up a gentle hill alongside Highway 78 in Forestdale. My mom was outside raking leaves as her two year old son (that would be me) ambled around eating bugs and leaves and generally toddling around in that winsome way of toddlers.
Mom became deeply engrossed in her activities, and failed to notice that her chubby, tow-headed helper had managed to open the door of her blue four door 1959 Mercury sedan and climb onto the driver's seat. What happened next is purely speculative, seeing as how the soon-to-be driver was rather uncommunicative, but it is surmised that he began poking about on the ultra-modern convenience known as the pushbutton automatic trasmission and managed to push something other than PARK, thus allowing this two ton pile of good American iron to begin rolling silently down the gentle slope.
When Mama saw what had happened, the car was halfway down the driveway and picking up speed, heading straight for the highway. She ran screaming down the hill, and watched in horror as the car came to the shoulder of the road, knowing that one of the hundreds of passing trucks or cars was sure to make contact. At that very moment, the wheels of the car violently turned to the side and the big Merc fell back-axle-first into the drainage ditch off to the side of the driveway, brutally felling the neighbor's mailbox on its spindly post.
Mom reached the car just as the young Mario Andretti wannabe was climbing down from the seat, with nothing to show but a small nick upon the side of his head.
And thus was born my love of driving.
And the reason why I never park on hills.
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