Before Those Seat Belt Laws


 First, I must state I am all for Seat Belt Laws although, at times, I forget to Buckle Up-right away.

A few weeks ago, my 13-year-old granddaughter was with me in my car. We left one place and were on our way to another when I remembered, I forgot to Buckle Up! When I did remember I quickly remedied the situation. But it did not go unnoticed by my passenger who was all buckled up and in a bit of shock that I, briefly, forgot.
I was going to explain to her how way back when in the Dark Ages, there were no such things as Seat Belt Laws but instead, we discussed Ed Sheeran. And the day continued on.
Later that evening I got to thinking about those 'No Seat Belt Wearing Days' and a certain car I had when the kids were young came to mind.
It was a Maverick. I loved my Maverick. It somehow earned the nickname, "The Crut Bomb." My kids and most every kid in the neighborhood knew that nickname. That is probably because the Crut Bomb was most always full of kids, mine and the neighbors. We went all over the place in that car. No seat belts were required so the Crut Bomb was quite busy with kids moving around.
If a good song came on the radio, it would get turned up and magically, the Crut Bomb would dance, just slightly and carefully but it did have the beat, especially when "Driving Down the Freeway" was playing.
One sunny, hot summer day the Crut Bomb was loaded with my kids and many kids from the neighborhood. We had been to the City Beach for the afternoon. They were all hot and tired and thirsty and sand was everywhere along with wet towels, sand buckets and shovels, leftover sandy snacks and a few beach balls.
As I was turning to go right off Proctor Avenue and by Eddy's Market and then down Ford Street, I happened to notice a flashing light in my mirror. There was a police car behind me. The policeman was waving me over in the Crut Bomb.
When he reached my window and looked inside the car at all the sand and toys and towels and kids with messy hair and sticky hands covered in sand, he asked me where we had been. I thought that was rather obvious. After taking a longer look in the back seat, he told me to head home. He hurried away, saying, "Have a nice day!"
I thanked him very much and hurried home but not too fast and no magic dancing was allowed from the amazing dancing car, lovingly called, "The Crut Bomb."
(The Maverick in the photo is not my Crut Bomb. I think my car went to Crut Bomb heaven, dancing all the way.)

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