When I was 3 and 4 years old, we lived in a duplex in the same Donelson, Tennessee, neighborhood in which Momma and Daddy later bought our first house. This was just east of Nashville, on I-40, which was under construction.
As a matter of fact, all of the Interstates which now criss-cross Nashville each ended at the edge of town. So, to get from I-40 to I-65, you had to drive surface streets through town, then pick up the southbound highway on the outskirts of the city.
I mention this, because that was what we did 3 weekends out of four, heading to Hohenwald to visit our grandparents and other relatives. It was an 80-mile, one-way, drive which ended up taking about 2 hours, back in those days.
One of my earliest specific memories is of the first time I took my little red trike to Hohenwald.
We were getting ready to make the trip south, and I asked Daddy if I could take my tricycle. I had really been enjoying riding it, and I didn't want to do without it for a whole weekend. Daddy said yes, so I ran out and got the tricycle, ready to go.
I pushed the trike into the driveway, got on it, and started to go. I was pretty sure I knew all of the turns, so I wasn't too concerned about getting lost. But, as I thought it through, I realized it was a pretty good distance to pedal, all under my own power.
So, I yelled for my sister to come and give me a push. That's how I usually got up the hill, coming back from Donna Seahorn's house, so I figured it was the best way to make the 80 miles to grandma's.
I was pretty disappointed when Daddy just laughed, made me get off of the trike, and then threw it into the trunk of the '64 Fairlane. I had really been looking forward to the ride...