The Old Abandoned Tractor

An old abandoned tractor sat in the field behind our home in San Pablo. It was beyond the backyard fence, between our house on Willets Drive, and the freeway.

I never gave it my attention until one day a boy my sister played with led us out there, beyond the fence, to the world of dry, high weeds and uneven ground and a monster of a tractor to walk around, and admire, and think about.

Was it safe to touch?

How could I get up on it like the boy did?

Should I?

Should I walk toward it, reach out, touch the old rusty behemoth with peeling yellow paint?

Should I climb?

And then, here comes Mom. She finally realized we were doing something we shouldn’t outside the realm of safely. From the little white house, she dashed out. She came yelling, saving us from ourselves, our experience, our exploration. Doing what every mom does to keep her children from running amuck.

I was being cautious, but only in the sense of wondering if my participation in this illicit activity was likely to injure me. That, and wondering if the tractor owner would suddenly materialize and damn us to hell for touching something that wasn’t ours.