PaPaw...pt. 1.
When I was a kid, my grandfather (PaPaw) had a little white pickup truck. It was a 1974 (or so) Toyota Hi Lux, with a 4 speed tranny. He loved that truck. It meant everything to him. It was his work truck, his transportation to his favorite fishing hole...
Apparently, he purchased it new. Pretty much straight off the boat and for a price we'd consider a steal these days. He drove that little truck around every day that he had it. I think I can remember its odometer rolling over more than once at least, and it just kept going and going no matter how much use it got. It ran like a champ ion the hot humid summer days, and started up every morning on the coldest part of winter (if such a concept...winter...even existed in Texas...that topic is certainly up for debate even to this day.).
I'd go to my grandparent's house in South Dallas to stay a few weeks in the summer. PaPaw worked at U.S. Pipe, which was a cement pipe manufacturing yard across town. He'd be up early, sometimes before dawn with his cup of coffee for breakfast. I used to occupy the couch in the living room of my grandparent's house when I stayed there, and would often wake up to the hushed noise he'd make in his morning rituals as he got ready for work. He'd sit in the same ratty old red chair he always did and have his coffee and chuff down a couple of cigarrettes before putting his socks and shoes on, grabbing his lunchbox out the door on his way to work. Everyone in the house would still be asleep for the most part, save me and my grandparent's three dogs. A minute or so after he'd leave the house via the front door, I'd hear that little truck start up and then back up the drive and off down the street. In the afternoon, he'd be back around again, tooting the Toyota's horn twice as he rolled down Bagley past the side of the house and turned left onto Tillery and through the chain link fence and into the driveway. This caused a commotion in the house, as the dogs had become quite accustomed to the daily event and would run to the windows to peer out at the truck getting ready to round the corner coming home.
Some of the fondest memories of my PaPaw and that little truck mainly are of the weekend trips my grandparents took to De Queen Lake in Arkansas to get away from the bustle of the city life. PaPaw would drive, and grandma (she never drove.) would ride shotgun, with me in between them; my long skinny legs on either side of the tranny hump and gearshift that ran through the middle of the floorboard of the tiny cab. We'd make the two hour drive to this little section of Arkansas to visit family, often stopping in on my uncle Sonkey and Aunt Alma in Benton, or just heading straight to the lake, setting camp and fishing all weekend. We'd fish for a couple of days and then pack up and head back to Dallas so he could start his work week all over again.
Apparently, he purchased it new. Pretty much straight off the boat and for a price we'd consider a steal these days. He drove that little truck around every day that he had it. I think I can remember its odometer rolling over more than once at least, and it just kept going and going no matter how much use it got. It ran like a champ ion the hot humid summer days, and started up every morning on the coldest part of winter (if such a concept...winter...even existed in Texas...that topic is certainly up for debate even to this day.).
I'd go to my grandparent's house in South Dallas to stay a few weeks in the summer. PaPaw worked at U.S. Pipe, which was a cement pipe manufacturing yard across town. He'd be up early, sometimes before dawn with his cup of coffee for breakfast. I used to occupy the couch in the living room of my grandparent's house when I stayed there, and would often wake up to the hushed noise he'd make in his morning rituals as he got ready for work. He'd sit in the same ratty old red chair he always did and have his coffee and chuff down a couple of cigarrettes before putting his socks and shoes on, grabbing his lunchbox out the door on his way to work. Everyone in the house would still be asleep for the most part, save me and my grandparent's three dogs. A minute or so after he'd leave the house via the front door, I'd hear that little truck start up and then back up the drive and off down the street. In the afternoon, he'd be back around again, tooting the Toyota's horn twice as he rolled down Bagley past the side of the house and turned left onto Tillery and through the chain link fence and into the driveway. This caused a commotion in the house, as the dogs had become quite accustomed to the daily event and would run to the windows to peer out at the truck getting ready to round the corner coming home.
Some of the fondest memories of my PaPaw and that little truck mainly are of the weekend trips my grandparents took to De Queen Lake in Arkansas to get away from the bustle of the city life. PaPaw would drive, and grandma (she never drove.) would ride shotgun, with me in between them; my long skinny legs on either side of the tranny hump and gearshift that ran through the middle of the floorboard of the tiny cab. We'd make the two hour drive to this little section of Arkansas to visit family, often stopping in on my uncle Sonkey and Aunt Alma in Benton, or just heading straight to the lake, setting camp and fishing all weekend. We'd fish for a couple of days and then pack up and head back to Dallas so he could start his work week all over again.
posted by in.dog.neato at 5:14 PM
2 comments
