When I was young, my dad rarely talked about his youth. He did tell some stories, but in recently years, when I went to see him, he'd tell story after story. My uncle who passed away a couple of years back at '95 would tell stories, as well. I mentioned this earlier, but a lot of stories about life in the mountains, back where the roads were poor and dangerous and young men had started getting automobiles, often involved a brand and model number of a car and where someone turned it over. My dad had a story about turning a car over, landing on the wheels, and he could still drive the thing. They don't make them like they used to. An aunt was telling me about the family horse when she was a child, how she and her sister would ride it around, too. My dad took me to the church my granny was buried at and described the property with the trees and horses tied off, and excited revivalistic Baptist preaching, and the pot lucks after church, back when he was young