Punky's Putt Putt

My dad, Cornbread, was nothing if not over the top at times.  The Christmas after I turned two, he insisted that “Santa” (he and my mom) get me a motorized Shriner’s car.  You know, the most suitable gift for a two and a half year-old.  Because he had long since nicknamed me “Punky,” it was only befitting that he have “Punky’s Putt Putt” painted on the side. 

Before I was able to really drive it, let alone steer it, my dad had me in parades with it.  It would be decorated up for whatever type of parade or festival it was, and dad would run along beside me.  He would toss a handful of candy; then, if I would start to veer, he’d run over and straighten my steering wheel out.  I can’t even begin to imagine what his back must have felt like after those parades.

Y’all, I can’t even begin to count the hours I spent practicing driving in that thing….under his watchful eye, of course.  I think I gave him a mild heart attack once when I almost took out a side of Punky’s Playhouse with the Putt Putt.  Sometimes I’d get a wild hair and want to take the Putt Putt down the lane to Grandma’s or Uncle Gregg’s…and dad would let me, as long as he could walk or drive behind me. 

I can vividly remember having my best friend Krystle come over, and we took the Putt Putt out.  At first dad had thought we’d be okay on our own, but he soon realized that we were incapable…after getting it stuck in the ditch every 20 yards.  He and Dale piled up in his old, blue, Toyota and followed behind us while we went on our joy ride. 

I remember being so jealous of my cousins who were taught how to drive very early on the farm.  Jarrod got it in his head one day that we could take the Putt Putt out and we could practice driving.  I ran into a metal gate that day, then took the Putt Putt through a patch of sandspurs effectively popping two of the tires.  I believe this may have been the point that dad decided he would not be the one to take me out driving when I got my learner’s permit.

(Sigh)….I sure did love that car.   But more than the Putt Putt, I love (and miss) the man that would oh-so-patiently walk behind or beside me as I drove it.