Flash, Micro Story

RDP Saturday: clutch

Today at RDP, we are asked to share a story,
 poem, photo, painting, essay, etc., focusing
on the word ‘clutch
. Here’s my take.

© iStock

Denise feels like kicking herself for not paying attention the day her father explained how to use the clutch in their car.


NAR©2025


This is “Pay Attention” by Pomplamoose

All text and graphics are copyright for Nancy Richy and are not to be used without permission. NAR©2017-present.

45 thoughts on “RDP Saturday: clutch”

  1. That made me laugh – I remember when I was 17 and got my provisional licence so excited as my dad had promised to teach me. My first lesson- how the engine works!! I was well miffed my second, we had literally gone 3 yards down our lane and he shouted “I’ll have no clutch left!” So I got out slamming the door got back in the house and said to my mum “ I’m not getting in the car with him again!”…and I didn’t 😆

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    1. You can’t or you don’t? I have lots of friends who live in Manhattan; they know how to drive but don’t have a car because it’s almost impossible finding a place to park. I love to drive and do all the driving when Bill and I go out. 🚗

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  2. I learned to drive a 1940 Ford sedan with a clutch and a stick shift. My grandfather’s eyesight was bad, and Granny wouldn’t let him drive to the domino parlor, so he taught his 10-year-old grandson to drive while he shifted the gears. It was like Robert Mitchum in Thunder Alley running moonshine. I worked the brake, clutch and gas pedal, and was quite good after a few runs. My mother threw a world-class fit when she found out. All my teenage muscle cars had clutches and stick shifts.

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      1. He also taught me to drive his John Deere tractor, and I got the hang of it pretty quick after driving through a few hundred yards of cattle fencing. He also taught me to chaw Tabacco, which I never told my mama about.

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          1. Yeah, grandpa was a fairly religious man, at times, but his two sons, my mischievous uncles, who were adulsts at that time, are the ones that almost ruined my childhood, telling me about monsters in the mountains that steal children, tall tales, and that Howdy Doody was not a real boy, things like that. I also inherited their knack for story telling and tall Texas tales. I was blessed for having street rat crazy family members.

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