On a hot, summer day about 3 years ago (so I was 11), once again my dad, Barry, asked me to help him move an old car. It was a '67 Ranchero in pretty good condition except it didn't run. So Dad told me to use the clutch. At the time, I didn't understand the concept of 'the clutch' so therefore didn't know how to use it. I got in the car and pretended to listen to Dad's instructions. When the time came to do whatever we were going to do, I didn't know what I was doing.

What I was suppose to do was when Dad yelled something, I was suppose to let go of the clutch. But what I really did was push the clutch as hard as I could, thinking I was doing what Dad had told me to do. So if any of you have guessed it, when you press the clutch as hard as you can (Well, you car-people know this but let me tell my story), it acts like the gas and thats how the whole Stick-Clutch-Thingy works. So anyway, I pushed it really hard and was starting to go downhill backwards and really fast. I didn't scream out loud, but I was screaming in my head.Luckily, there was this HUGE boulder behind me a couple yards and I crashed into that. Dad was pissed. Not only because I didn't listen, but because out of this whole ordeal, I made a dent the size of a dime in the bumper.

We still sold the Ranchero and I'm pretty sure he didn't know about the dent. But hey, it was fun. And thats the truth!(*blows rassberry*)

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