by Elaine Mead Currier Keniston

Mother was driving. When we were young, it was the Ford with the smooth, curved hardtop. The car slowed and we heard its tires spinning. I guess we three girls, always occupying the back seat, had been making some noise: talking, giggling or arguing the way kids do. We knew instinctively to stop when we heard the car getting stuck. The decibel level we had attained was not so high as to cut off our awareness of the larger situation. As a matter of fact, Mother’s tolerance of kid-noise did not even approach the lower register. She and those of her generation often reminded us how fortunate we were to take part in some social measure, because when they were kids, “children were to be seen and not heard”. The next thing we knew from similar prior experiences was that this unintended automotive situation was somehow our fault.
Her voice resounded from up there in the front:”There! Now see what you kids have gotten me into? A mess – that’s what! Now BE QUIET and we’ll try to get outta here!”
We sat perfectly motionless at first and maintained the quiet she demanded, hoping that it would help her concentrate while rocking the vehicle back and forth, shifting into first, then into reverse, the Ford spitting out gravel, its engine roaring with newfound acceleration, dipping down into the rut and straining up to its edges. (more…)