|The Rescue Rider|
For Zack's first Christmas, Santa brought him the Rescue Rider. And, boy! Did Zack love that thing! He pretty much learned to walk by pulling up on the back end of it and pushing it all over the house. Later, he learned to sit on it and propel himself forward with his feet. I never understood why it was called a "rescue" rider because it was really a dump truck. What ever. Zack carried all his favorite toys, loads of sand and more frogs & turtles than I could count around in the back of it.
Later in life, by the grand old age of 2, Zack had perfected steering his Rescue Rider. Zack would start at the back of our house & race straight towards our front door. A glass front door, I might add. He'd get within inches of slamming into the door, turn the steering wheel, do a half a donut spin, and end up with the back of the Rescue Rider literally only an inch or two away from the door. He did this over and over and over again and never hit the door! Not once!
Later still, when his little sister was grown up enough to be chasing him around, calling "Hack, Hack" (because she couldn't pronounce the "z" in Zack,) he'd give her rides on the back and he even carried her dolls around for her occasionally.
Zack drove that Rescue Rider until its wheels fell off. Literally. Well, that's not true. They didn't fall off. They were hard plastic and he wore huge giant holes in them (from sliding towards the front door, I'm sure) and eventually, the holes got so big the Rescue Rider would no longer role.
It was a Very sad day the day the Rescue Rider went to live with the garbage men.