Snow day during the big depression (in the 30s and 40s)

Dad told me about his first car ride and why it was almost his last. The neighbor bought a brand new Model T and was trying to find a use for it. He decided he would take my dad, uncles and aunt to school one day. The kids walked out to the car with syrup (lunch) pails in hand and got into the car. Dad being the oldest got shotgun and away they went. George the neighbor was great with horses but a car was something different. They got to the end of the 1/4 mile driveway when George realized he had to stop to open the barbwire gate. Suddenly his brain went to horse and buggy days as he began pulling on the steering wheel and telling his car to 'whoa'. Of course the car didn't whoa or even slow down so George began to panic. Planting both feet firmly on the pedals he braced himself back like he had a runaway. The little car sped up and ripped a half of mile of fence out as it passed through the gate over the road and into the ditch. Somehow George got it straightened out and back onto the road at full speed. Then came that sharp left about a mile down the road. Still in a bit rattled and trailing a good stretch of barbed wire George swung the tin Lizzy around the corner and to everyone's surprise didn't tip it. About a half a mile farther along George noticed a large pig in the middle of the road. Panicked again he braced and began yelling whoa as he tugged on the steering wheel furiously. Sadly the old pig didn't have time to get out of the way and was run over by the car. The radiator began to leak and there was oil dripping out of the bottom and the kids were thrown in the air. Old George was furious. He went over to a nearby brush patch, found a good stick and came back and began beating the car mercilessly. Dad being the observant type watched the old sow get up and run back to her barn. Seemingly unhurt. Not so George's car. It needed some major repairs.