Sonny Boy

I went to dinner with my dad and his two best friends. They told stories from the good old days. 

Dad's grandmother Mamaw never learned how to drive or got her license. Papaw got his license but never learned how to drive. After his third wreck his license was revoked. Their last house had electricity but no running water. Dad was eleven at the time. 

"Sonny Boy, if you take me down to the store to get some beer I'll give you one."

Dad - Sonny Boy, as Papaw used to say - drove him there from age eleven onward, having to peer through the steering wheel for the first few years. 

***John said the general store owner wouldn't sell you alcohol or tobacco unless you could put your chin over the counter. There was another man, though, whose only qualification was green paper, with no questions asked***

The deputy sheriffs used to pull Dad over sometimes. "Nigel, get your ass back home," they'd say, shaking their heads, "You know you're not supposed to be on the road."

Then he'd head on back with Papaw's five pack and Sonny Boy's one.