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Shragi and Shia Drive Things Up a Notch

Yael Mermelstein

“Please, Daddy, please?” Shia said. “Pretty, pretty, pretty please?” I had no idea what Shia was groveling about since I walked into the living room about one minute too late. But whatever it was he was sorely embarrassing himself. Oh, to see a grown bar mitzvah boy beg!

Wednesday, December 14, 2011

“Shia Kolodny, you are being absolutely ridiculous,” my father said. “Do you honestly think that I’m going to teach my 13-year-old son how to drive? You have a few years ahead of you before we can even think of driving lessons.”

Shia looked crestfallen. I actually felt bad for the guy. But he quickly bounced back.

“Wait a second!” Shia said. “I have another idea. What if you stay in the driver’s seat but you just let me rotate the wheel. Just so that I can get the hang of driving? Would that work? We can start in a parking lot.”

My father didn’t say no, which meant he was actually contemplating the idea! Hey wait a second! What about me?

“Yeah,” I said. “Me too!”

“Please?” Shia said.

“Pretty, pretty please?” I added. Shia rolled his eyes at me. Now look who was groveling.

My father threw his hands up in the air. “You win boys. I guess there’s nothing wrong with giving you the wheel a bit in a deserted parking lot so long as you follow all of my instructions.”

 

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MM217
 
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