The Fifth Wheel

I remember the day before school, like it was yesterday.  It was the end of labor day and the last day of the county fair.  Next day was school.

We lived on Trenton Avenue in a nice house on a fairly busy street, next door lived my friend Terry.  She was two years older than I was, I was the fifth wheel.  she did alot of things before I did.  I think.  She lived, I followed.

She had asked me if I wanted to go to the county fair and I said I did, I asked mom, dad was at work.  She said that was fine, be home by 3:00, There are things we need to do and you need to get your rest.  I don’t know why, I felt fine.  So off we went Terry, her boyfriend, I think his name was Tom, and I.  We had a good time and before I knew it it was 3 something and going home seemed like it was for babies.  I can’t remember if I tried to call or not.  I have haphazard visions of  a ferris wheel and cotton candy.  Before I knew it it was 9:00 pm when I got home and in the back of my mind I knew I was in major trouble.  I wanted to remain cool.

Since that time I have never underestimated what my dad would do to me if I didn’t obey.  If only some of the thugs, gang members, bratty girls, and such could have had their butts in the same place as I did, maybe we wouldn’t have so many problems?!

I called home to tell mom I was at Terrys house, right next door, remember?  My dad happened to be home then, he walked out of the house crossed the yard, came in the back door of Terry’s house, up the stairs and walked into Terrys room.  I didn’t need a premonition to know I was in deep deep trouble.  I got my hiney whacked and believe me, I looked at the county fair in a whole new way.

In the life of bustersdaughter, sore hineys and all. 

 

Milk builds strong bones

 

When he was little, Buster,  would ride along to help his dad, Walter, deliver milk for the San a Pure Dairy.  Milk really is good for you.

 Bustersdaughter……………..

Listen

There were stories for every reason under the sun.  We heard stories of how Peterbilt trucks came about, why the blue reflector lights were in certain places  next to the fire hydrants in town and  where he put them , how he met Jimmy Hoffa during a Teamsters meeting in Detroit, during the steel strikes in the ’70’s  and lived to tell about it.  We happen to hear about so many stories I can’t even begin to tell ya.

I have a photo of my ex and my dad standing in a parking lot with Mr. Ex watching and listenening to him explain lord only knows what.  Bless him, he was wonderful when it came to all ears on full alert.  Fortunately he wasn’t like me, he could remember what he said verbatium, I could not.   I remember being so impatient at times, I’d liketadied listening to this and that about who and whatever, I’d give my left elbow and a sock or two in cold weather to have those moments back.  I still don’t know if I could repeat everything but I do know I’d be all the wiser and a tank filled to the brim in anything you wanted to know.  Those  were the wonderful years and it pays to take your head out of the sky and your thumb outta your ears, sit up and pay attention because no matter how bone dead dog tired you are or how many times you have heard “that story”, just listen one more time.  It could be the last.  The time when they cease to exist and your insides ache and the boot is pulled out for a good kicking. 

Just remember.  Listen.