The Car Hood

Every Winter the hill in front of our house was covered with a blanket of snow.
Too poor to buy sleds my brother and I stole an old car hood one day while trudging home from school. The heavy winds from the night before had blown it to the back field on our side of the fence.

We pulled it home and waxed it good. It was the hood of an old fifty seven Chevy and Mr. Swanberg was restoring an old car now void of a hood. The old man watched us suspiciously as we made our way to the sledding hill, the hood
bouncing behind us. Leaning into the rope. Steve whispered.
“Finders keepers.” and we kept on.

Step by step struggling up the hill well winded by the time we made it to the top.
Then holding tight we slid downhill at a blinding speed, snow in our faces.
We held on for dear life trying to dodge the sagebrush and most of the time crashing when we hit the bottom, but we immediately made our way back up.

We sledded the hill until darkness spread across the valley. Wet, cold, and hungry
we made it to the top one last time. Before sliding down the hill we gazed in the clear night. From Mr. Swanberg’s house the Christmas lights and a sign “Peace On Earth.” shinned across the snow. We could see the figure of the old man working in his shop. Steve and Imade our way down the hill and out of guilt returned what we stole.

There were no sleds under the tree, Christmas morning. My brother and I knew
There would not be anything, but needed clothes and socks and that was fine by us. We learned to be thankful for what we had There were other children who had nothing. We had a home, a mother and father. That was enough.

That morning when I went to gather fire wood  there were two sleds both hand crafted by someone who took great care at all the things he did. Each with a bow and our names on them. Waxed and ready to go.  As I gazed at Mr. Swanberg’s house I seen the car hood on top his old car. The old man smiling at me  with bright blue eyes, because he knew.