Sixteen

March 24, 2009
By Ethan Thackrey BRONZE, Columbia, Illinois
Ethan Thackrey BRONZE, Columbia, Illinois
1 article 0 photos 0 comments

Through the doors of the DMV,
I heard the clicking of the computer mouse and
Saw the blinding light of a camera flash.
As I walked in with my dad,
The DMV workers stared at me.
I was sixteen.

My heart raced as they called me to the front desk
I handed the women my permit and papers,
She looked at me and smiled.
My dad turned to me and said,
“Son I am proud of you.”
I was sixteen.

As I waited for the women to get done,
I thought back to the first time I drove.
My dad and I were driving around when
He told me to turn at the last minute.
I spun the wheel madly and drifted across the pavement.
I was sixteen

Finally, the women said she was done.
She told me to get in front of the camera.
I sat down on the stool,
Gave her my best smile and saw the flash.
When it was I over picked up my license.
I looked at my dad and we left.

I stood there looking at my pickup truck, sixteen


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