McGraw©Hill/Focus/Father's Finest Hour p.2////R7N1/ ***** The first car I knew was more than a car. It was a beloved

four©wheeled institution of learning. Its curriculum? Simple

lessons in everyday living taught by my father. For from the

summer day when he brought it home, he was to use it ever after

to demonstrate to us children his homely, workable philosophy. A flat tire? Better to see the bird's nest in the roadside

tree, or go scrambling after wildflowers. "Use your troubles as

stepping©stones to happy things" was the way Dad put it. When

the car got hot and steam poured like a young geyser from the

radiator, Dad wasn't vexed. He would laugh and explain, "Just

like a human being©even a car can't go at full pace all the time

and not have something happen. You got to stop and rest once in

a while." If the temperamental headlights refused to work, Dad

transferred our attention from the danger of the dark road to the

moonlit heavens above. "Put your trust in God," he would advise

us seriously, "not in man©made things." Dad's masterpiece though, came the day we went to Oakland

Mills hill©the challenge that nearly broke our hearts. In those days Oakland Mills hill was the proving ground for

all cars in our Iowa community. If the car climbed this hill

under its own power (high was inconceivable), it was a good car,

entitled to the community's respect and admiration. If it

failed, it was a worthless piece of junk