Buttered cornbread, made without sugar, and crumbled into cold sweet milk. Yummmy. Learned it from my grandmother.

My dad had decided it was time for me to learn to drive. We were at my grandparent's farm. My dad drove his little white volkswagon bug out into the middle of the dirt road that went by the farm. He got out, and said, "OK, Bud, get in a drive." He got into the passenger seat and grabbed the Jesus handle. I popped the clutch a couple of time killing the car. He asked if I could feel where I was killing it. I tried again and felt it. "Thats when you hit the gas". Of course he should not have said "hit". I minded very well in those days and, fortunately, he had a good grip on the Jesus handle because we lurched forward. The bug died, but I had moved the car. He demonstrated with his hand what I was to do with my feet. Within a few minutes we were puttering down that straight old graded road. I drove up the the highway which was a couple of miles. He turned us around and I drove down to the railroad which was closer to 10 miles. He turned us around and I drove back to the farm. That day he taught me how to listen to the engine to know when to shift, how to shift up and down, and how to brake. He said I would figure out how to do turns and park based on what we did that day. Eventually, I would take driving lessons through my school, but the lessons my dad gave me that day were the best. And I drove a stick-shift until I got old.