Pick-up Trucks and Gum.

My dad had a green GMC pick-up truck. It was big and he would wash it in our drive way. I remember that he had a bumper sticker that read "The Hell With Shell". A statement of union members to a non union company I think. It was a hard concept for my seven year old mind to wrap itself around, so I didn't try. I liked to ride with my dad in his truck. Sometimes he would sing the only song I ever remember singing with him. A song I think he made up called "Just Molly and Me". He would play the radio station loud; I remember singing along with Johnny Cash to "Boy named Sue", the smoke from his Vantage cigarette wafting through the air, and I'd look out the window at the trees whizzing by, chewing the gum that only Dad bought.

Yesterday Joe borrowed a truck to pick up some wooden skids in Grand Rapids. Isaiah and I rode along. He was fascinated with the view from where he sat. To a child raised with car seats and only backseat rides, the front seat of the truck offered a whole new world to explore. He changed radio stations, stopping when the music grabbed him, turning his head slightly toward the speakers, he'd bob up and down with an oh so serious look upon his face (his preferences leaned toward classic rock and roll with a little rap thrown in for good measure). He fiddled with the heater controls, and was intrigued by the lighter. Joe singed his fingertips showing Isaiah how it worked. Isaiah leaned against me, snuggled as if on a couch, and fell asleep as we traveled on the interstate.

As Joe cut the skids into pieces, our boy discovered the wonders of the bed of a pick up truck. He climbed in and out using the tires as footholds, and was thrilled with a ride around the parking lot, breeze blowing through his hair. He helped his poppa tie the load down securely, and walked with a strut back to the cab of the truck where I waited.

We ate dinner at the new Red Robin's in G.R. and then stopped at World Market. I had a $25.00 gift certificate yet to use from my birthday in May. We browsed, found dark chocolate on sale, along with sandalwood scented soap. I took my purchases to the counter, and there sat a display of Beeman's gum . The very same gum that my dad would give me as I rode along in his GMC. I picked up a pack as a wave of nostalgia threatened to overwhelm me.

On the way home, the passing car lights softly illuminated Isaiah as he sat with feet stretched out straight in front of him between his father and I. I heard him nosily chewing his gum, my father's gum of choice. As he smacked his lips he said to me, "This is the best gum in the whole wide world, mom."



I think so too.