This story is actually about
myself when I was about 4 years old. My father loved to drive
but he only saw one purpose in it. Driving was to get him a way
to get where he wanted to go.
The family would complain
about his never slowing down for the potholes in the roads, and
he would only say he was just following the road."
I asked Dad one evening
after he ran over a particularly bad hole in the road, just what
the holes were called. He kind of chuckled and told me they were
called "chug holes". I piped up and asked him with all the knowledge
a 4 year old little girl could muster... "Daddy, is that where