When I was a little kid.
Old enough to walk to school.
With an older, by one or two years, brother.
We did just that.
Walk.
To school.
When the rain fell down.
Heavily.
Soaking us to the bones.
My mom would warm up the big 'ol car.
Some kind of giant machine.
And she would gather us up.
All our things.
Load them in the car.
And drive us.
To our school.
Keeping us nice and dry.
On some of those days.
My mom would pull over.
At the bus stop.
And ask the kids standing there.
Soaking to the bones.
If they'd like a ride.
To school.
Instead of waiting for the bus.
Yes they did.
Want a lift.
So they'd jump into our car.
Our big 'ol car.
And my mom would drop us all off.
At the curb.
In front of our school.
Ready to learn.
Instead of worrying about how cold we were.
My mom made those days easier.
For me.
For my brother.
And for the other kids who wanted a ride.
Old enough to walk to school.
With an older, by one or two years, brother.
We did just that.
Walk.
To school.
When the rain fell down.
Heavily.
Soaking us to the bones.
My mom would warm up the big 'ol car.
Some kind of giant machine.
And she would gather us up.
All our things.
Load them in the car.
And drive us.
To our school.
Keeping us nice and dry.
On some of those days.
My mom would pull over.
At the bus stop.
And ask the kids standing there.
Soaking to the bones.
If they'd like a ride.
To school.
Instead of waiting for the bus.
Yes they did.
Want a lift.
So they'd jump into our car.
Our big 'ol car.
And my mom would drop us all off.
At the curb.
In front of our school.
Ready to learn.
Instead of worrying about how cold we were.
My mom made those days easier.
For me.
For my brother.
And for the other kids who wanted a ride.
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