My first subject was Ol' Blue- the old Chevy truck that was my dad's source of transportation from my earliest memories until after I was married. Growing up, when it wasn't being driven by Daddy and was parked in its spot, it also served as our playground, our spaceship, Dukes of Hazard car, pioneer wagon, horse drawn carriage, yacht, row boat and then island that we had stowed away to, playhouse, upright sit and spin (huge steering wheel we could sit on and have someone else turn trying to knock us off)
trampoline (very springy bouncy seats) depository for many rocks (the little square holes along the side of the bed--the first drop we thought it would fall through to the ground. It didn't, so we kept dropping more and more trying to find out where they were going. We never found out and were wise enough not to ask Daddy where they might have piled up, but not wise enough to stop trying to figure it out on our own) a large farm truck so we could pretend like we were driving to the Co-Op to get feed and then pretend to load up the feed, our inflicter of pain (when we let down the tail gate to load the pretend sacks of feed and its weight crushed our fingers as it fell), our ledge to jump off and see how many jumping jacks we could do in the air once we were strong enough to let down the tail gate and hook it with the chains so it stayed out instead of slamming hard on its bumper, and our death defying balance beam or high wire perched over a pool of angry sharks (balancing on the edges of the bed.)When it was being driven it was our transportation to Little League games, fishing at the lake, driving over the dam, trips to the hardware store, to the local nursery where we could pick out our very own seedlings to grow, to the veterinarian with our dog Sarge and treks to the grocery store or school when the weather was icy. If we were lucky and the weather wasn't icy we could ride in the bed of the truck. With the exception of driving over the dam and driving down to the shore of the lake, which for some reason terrified me, riding in the bed was pure delight.
Once when my dad was out of town and took the good family car with him my mom drove us in the truck to go pick up our cousins who were visiting from out of town and bring them to our house. We had a long time to sit and visit in the truck bed as my mom searched for each hard to find gear and we rattled and lurched in the back. We mostly tried to keep from laughing ourselves silly. My mom could drive a standard, but Ol' Blue was contrary when anyone but my dad was in the driver's seat. Mom still gets a little defensive to this day about it.
Once when we were riding in the back of Ol' Blue after a baseball game and big loss by my brother's team, I decided to cheer him up by waiting until we were at an underpass where echoing could always be heard by shouting (we had lots of practice at this)to declare at the top of my lungs, "Yellow Jackets are #1!" I looked at him expecting to see some team spirit and jubilation return to his face and instead saw more bitter disappointment and my sister looking at me in utter disbelief. In my young mind I had confused the two teams and even though I thought he had played for the Yellow Jackets, I was cheering the opposite team and pouring salt in his wound. He forgave me though when he saw me beating on the back window to get my dad's attention to get him to turn around and go back through the underpass so I could shout the right team name. Dad didn't, but my brother was somewhat cheered up when I was yelled at by both Mom and Dad and told to sit down.
Another time with another cousin we took the long journey to the lake with fishing poles from our shed and worms from my grandpa's worm business. He sold the juiciest, fattest worms imaginable for only $1.00 a box. He had dried catfish heads all along his fence to show others the size of fish that were caught by using his special worms. To this day, I remember the feel of the moist cool dirt of the worm beds and the sight and sound of the worms popping to the top of the soil when I would help Papa feed them and keep them warm. I'm going to be a worm farmer, too one of these days, but I digress. Since the road was long to get to the lake and my cousin was very impatient my brother and I convinced him along the way that we had left the state and were in New Mexico where fishing laws were very strict and since we didn't have the right fishing license for New Mexico we would all go to jail if we were caught with fishing poles and worms. Either we were good actors or he was a very gullible little boy because he was near tears when we had to nearly body slam him to keep him from pitching the worms, poles and tackle boxes over the side of the truck when we yelled, "Cop!" Our fishing lures were lucky indeed because we were able to keep them from being thrown out as we cruised along and none of the adults caught the quick scrambling in the bed of the truck as we tackled him on hands and knees.
As I grew older and hit those awkward Jr. High years I began to think no one understood me or had the time to really love me. My poor mom was always getting yelled at by me either because she talked too much to me or she didn't talk enough. She never did anything with me or she wanted to be with me too much. She never wanted to read what I wrote for school or she was too nosy about what I wrote for school. I remember going into a crying fit with her because she and Daddy named me Melissa. Didn't they know there would other Melissa's and my school and so I had no real identity? Didn't she care? How they came out of that period unscathed and with all their wits I will never know. But Ol' Blue helped me to realize I was indeed important to my parents. We had gone to Abilene(I was in the cab because riding in the bed in Abilene was never an option) and as my dad made a sharp turn the passenger door swung open wide and my mom sprang into action by grabbing me to keep me from sliding out. She somehow manged to quickly stand up hunched over me and push me towards Dad's reach and as he yanked me towards him she reached out for the door and slammed it shut. This life saving feat was all done as Dad kept driving and completed the turn with perfection. They had the opportunity to give me a big push and leave me there on my own, but instead they sprang into action to keep me by their sides. They loved me after all.
Midway through my teenage years Ol' Blue became an embarrassment. I didn't want to be seen in it anymore. After I had my driver's license I no longer cared about Ol' Blue and was driving myself to school in an 84 Oldsmobile Delta 88 which strangely didn't embarrass me. One morning it was icy enough for the roads to be slick but not icy enough to cancel school. Dad insisted that he drive me to school in Ol' Blue and no matter how much I protested he wasn't going to relent and let me drive. I was mortified. That evening when the roads were thought to be clear he allowed me to drive. I hit an ice patch in my 88 and did a small fish tail. It was enough for me to see my life flash before my eyes. It was enough for me to beg my dad the next morning to take me to school in Ol' Blue and this time instead of dropping me off on the Jr. High side he could take me straight to the high school. He could even drop me off right at the front doors where everyone could see me get out. I didn't care. I was in love again with Ol' Blue if it meant I didn't have to drive on ice again. Ol' Blue had changed my view on my own life once again.
My next photo subject will be Abigail inside Ol' Blue. It's sitting in my parents' back yard. My dad doesn't have the time to work on her, but he never could bring himself to completely let her go. Abigail won't be able to ride in Blue, but she can pretend she is as I tell her the stories. Maybe one day Ol' Blue will hit the open road again, but if not, the memories will always be taking her for a spin.
No comments:
Post a Comment