Down to the River

I became immune to the once intoxicating smell of diesel by the time I turned 3. By age 6, my feet became rough and non-penetrable from racing around the hay fields barefoot. By the time I was 9, I had mastered the art of creating perfect stripes in the grass with the old Snapper lawn mower. By age 10, my father let me ride with the actual blades on.
I had always been the apple of my father's eye. I had always been the perfect daughter who was always expected to be comfortable being on the invisible leash my parents hooked me to the day I was born. They taught me so many things, leaving out, of course, the things they didn't want me to hear. They never taught me that there was no difference between races. So I taught myself.