Well, let me see.....my plan had been to move directly from my exciting life at Foodway to my really exciting life at Six Flags and then on to college. Debbie informed me this was a bad idea for two reasons. First of all, nobody wants to hear my life story....it's just not that interesting. She's right of course. The second reason continuing on to Six Flags is a bad idea is she thinks I should tell a little about our own life together. Not sure there's much interest there either. Trust me, I have some great stories to tell about working at Six Flags. Some of them are even stories that can be repeated in print, however, I will follow Debbie's suggestion and start telling a little bit about our own story. I will return to Six Flags someday. After all, I know you will all want to hear about launching crickets at the balloon girls, our daily "fart" jokes, and my favorite encounter with a little boy named Herny. See, that was good times. I'll come back to it someday.
Before I leave my childhood behind though, I wanted to pass on a memory I recovered while chasing the Snickers thief down Pipeline Road in the last story. It's not a knee slapper but I like it...and it's my blog so there. To set the story up I need to explain a little about my mom. My mom was not a driver. As far as I can remember, I was in the car with her three times while growing up. The first time is only remembered because my big sister, Cindy, has told us about it several times over the years. Mama had decided to try out my dad's 1950 Chevy with a standard transmission. She managed to get stuck on a hill and rolled backward more than forward for an uncomfortable amount of time and gear grinding. My sister patted me on the head and advised me to not worry, mama would make it eventually. According to Cindy, her words were exactly, "Don't worry baby Dussel. Uze mama will make it up the hill." I'm pretty sure I wasn't the least bit worried about it. The second occasion was when our next door neighbor, Sherry M had missed her school bus. She asked my mom if she would take her to the high school so she wouldn't be late. My mom didn't want to try but she loved the neighbors as much as I adored the much older Sherry. She loaded us all up in the Chevy and started out on the longest and scariest trip to Bell High School any of us will ever experience. All of us kids in back were screaming, Sherry and her mom were in the front seat, wide-eyed, pale as ghosts, holding on to anything they could grab, and moaning quietly while praying their respective souls out. My mom was yelling at us kids to quiet down so she could concentrate and not hit any of the oncoming cars. This was while driving on a two lane blacktop later known as Pipeline Road, with drainage ditches on each side and very little room for error if a random driver came along foolishly challenging my mom for the road. She only drove into the ditch one time that day but I lost count of the poor souls who left the road to avoid being hit by some derelict, pea green Chevy driven by a mad woman. Mama only tried driving one more time after that. We all wanted to go to a Halloween party at our church. The church was about six blocks away and it looked easy enough because Pipeline Road had been widened and repaved and my dad had just bought a shiny new Pontiac with one of those newfangled automatic transmissions. She got us to the church but we were all so traumatized by the ride we couldn't enjoy ourselves. She absolutely refused to drive home. We sat around for the longest time trying to figure out what to do. We could walk home of course but how were we going to get that new Pontiac back home before our dad got off work? Eventually she asked one of the high school boys to drive the car home for us. As far as I know, mama never drove again. I'll explain that my dad worked night shift occasionally and car-pooled, leaving the car just sitting there as a temptation to a non-driver. Had he known....whew!
All of the above is to explain why so many of my stories involve walking, riding my trusty old candy apple red Western Flyer bicycle, or bumming rides from my aunt Cricket. Mama should have learned how to drive when she was growing up. All her sisters and brothers were accomplished drivers...all of them, and there were a lot. I can only figure since she was the baby sister of the herd, she was pampered and didn't have to do anything she didn't really want to do. Learning to drive was almost as bad as going to school, which was something else she didn't want to do. Anyway, this is my explanation of why we were stuck at home most of the time. One of those times was a bitterly cold and windy day. We had all been wanting to try out the new Dairy Kreme (not to be confused with the more popular and highly successful Dairy Queen. Hurst was small. A major concern like Dairy Queen wasn't interested in investing in our little wide spot in the road. Luckily for us one brave entrepreneur was willing to try us out with the lesser known Dairy Kreme). He built it on Pipeline Road right next to where the city was about to install Mary Drive. I think he must have been advised his was a good spot because Mary Drive was eventually going to lead to the first city park Hurst ever built. Although the location was only about a mile from our house, to get there you either had to drive on the dreaded Pipeline Road or walk down our street, past the woods, over the creek, and through someone's pasture. As our family discussion focused on greasy hamburgers and fries, we begged mama to drive us over to the Dairy Kreme. Daddy was at work and the Pontiac was just sitting there innocently waiting for a driver but after our hair raising trip to the church building earlier in the year, we didn't argue too much when mama said, "Absolutely not!" I valiantly offered to ride my bike down Pipeline to get to the DK. My mom wouldn't allow that because she was afraid some crazed driver would run off the road and hit me. Not to give up on a hamburger, I offered to walk over for the treat. The wind was blowing, snow was threatening, and I could imagine bears living in those woods but I did want that hamburger. Mama finally agreed as long as Cindy went with me. Cindy didn't really want to make the trip but she enjoyed a good burger as much as the rest of us so we put on our coats, put the exact amount of money we needed in my coat pocket, and off we went.
When we finally made it to the pasture the wind was blowing so hard we had to lean into it. Our simple little "I live in Texas, I don't need a heavy coat" coats weren't blocking the wind at all. We were freezing...but we could see the Dairy Kreme through our tear filled eyes. We got to the shop and it felt like heaven when we walked in...smelled like heaven too I might add. We ordered six hamburgers and three orders of fries to go. Then we sat down on bar stools to wait and discussed the merits of soft serve ice cream being good even in the winter. It was five cents for a cone and we decided that if we had counted wrong and had a nickel left over, we would treat ourselves to a shared cone when we left. The counter lady finally brought the burgers and fries out and told us what our total was. I pulled out all the money we had put together and dumped it on the counter. She counted out all the crumpled bills and change...then she counted it again. Finally she looked up and told us we were 5 cents short. We couldn't leave with our food unless we had another nickel. Of course we didn't. I told her if she would let us go I would bring her a nickel right after I got home with the food. She said no. I guess I didn't look honest. So I left Cindy sitting at the counter and started back home for another nickel. Mama wasn't too happy about it when I walked in the door without the burgers. I thought she was mad at me but she explained she was upset with the lady at the counter. She just knew she had counted out the exact amount we needed but she gave me another nickel and I headed back out into the cold, grey afternoon. I was about frozen when I walked into the store the second time. I was ready to slap that nickel on the counter and show my disdain to the stingy old lady but when I saw Cindy sitting at the counter finishing up a 5 cent soft serve ice cream cone I forgot all about my grievance with the store and concentrated on anger for my big sister. I asked her how she came about being able to buy that ice cream when we didn't have enough to pay for our food. I was thinking all kinds of evil things about lying, theft, and corruption in the sibling unit. She explained to me that right after I left to get another nickel, the counter lady got to feeling guilty about sending me back out. She felt sorry for Cindy...for Cindy mind you...because she had to sit and wait for me to walk one mile home and one mile back in freezing weather for lack of a silly nickel....so she gave Cindy an ice cream cone to enjoy while she waited. I've never understood why she just didn't give us the cotton-picking nickel we needed to pay our bill. But, and this is a big but, those hamburgers were just about the best we ever ate when we finally got home with them. Of course they were cold....and soggy from sitting on the counter all that time, but man oh man, they did taste good.
Okay, let me get to a story about Debbie and me......would you look at the time. I guess I better quit before you all start yawning and regretting this little trip down memory lane with me. I promise, next time I'll start out with, "Does anyone know that pretty little Debbie Tatom who just started coming to our church?"
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