The Orange Volkswagon

When my dad and mom got married, my mother had a bike and my father had an old orange Volkswagen bug. It was a stick shift, and my mom didn’t have much practice with stick shifts, but she did have a dog named Wendy. Wendy was a wonderful dog who had the patience of Job.

My parent’s first Christmas together had to include a REAL tree. We continued this tradition faithfully until my parents got old and don’t want to clean the needles anymore. Marsh supermarket, that sold Christmas trees, was about eight blocks from home. After picking out a nice tree, Dad dragged it back to the car (it was all bound up) and discovered that it would not fit in the orange VW bug.

Dad tossed the keys to my mother, and said he would race her home—he with the tree, and she with the stick shift and Wendy, who for some reason was in the car with them. It took her a minute to realize what was going on, and by then dad has dragged the tree half way across the parking lot.

Enter Uncle James. My father’s namesake, Uncle James, was known for his jokes and laughter—and once he had a funny story about you to tell, it would be told. Uncle James decided to come visit the new happy couple in their first few months of marriage. He pulled up to their home on Otterbein and knocked on the door, but no one was home. He walked slowly back to his car and was heralded by the sight of the race.

The race continued off of Hanna Ave and onto Otterbein Ave neck and neck, but dad and the Christmas tree were gaining. Mom and the VW bug were convulsing down the street slowly with the doors swinging open and shut. You could just barely see a frightened dog huddled in the back, scared for her life. Uncle James never let anyone forget the story, Which is why I am telling it to you today.