Remember that day you got your arm pinned between
the spout of the feeder wagon and the silo? I had gone to the barn to clean the
hog floors and you promised to yell when you needed my help with something. I had barely thrown a few forkfuls of dirty hay out the door when I heard you calling my name. So soon? I ran up to the silos to find you hopelessly stuck.
"Pull the tractor ahead without letting it roll backward," you instructed – something I had never done successfully. Not once. Was I 10? 12? I had to stand on the clutch with both feet to put that stubborn Oliver tractor into gear – which meant I didn’t have a foot to put on the brake to stop a backward roll. And one hand for the throttle on the steering column? I can still see it in my mind. Certainly I was going to make a mistake and take off your arm – wouldn’t you rather I went to get someone else? My mom, my older brother, a neighbor, anyone?
“You can do it,” you coached me. I revved the throttle and popped the clutch – the tractor practically leaped forward, freeing your arm. And then… back to the barn to clean the hog floors.
"Pull the tractor ahead without letting it roll backward," you instructed – something I had never done successfully. Not once. Was I 10? 12? I had to stand on the clutch with both feet to put that stubborn Oliver tractor into gear – which meant I didn’t have a foot to put on the brake to stop a backward roll. And one hand for the throttle on the steering column? I can still see it in my mind. Certainly I was going to make a mistake and take off your arm – wouldn’t you rather I went to get someone else? My mom, my older brother, a neighbor, anyone?
“You can do it,” you coached me. I revved the throttle and popped the clutch – the tractor practically leaped forward, freeing your arm. And then… back to the barn to clean the hog floors.
You are a great dad, a good coach and I love you. Lynn
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