Pick up trucks…
Around noon today, I’ll land in Savannah, Georgia, grab a suitcase stuffed with jeans and t-shirts, and climb into my dad’s pick up truck.
To imagine my dad without a pick up truck would be like him not having a southern accent. It’s impossible.
When I was a teeny-tiny girl, my dad had an old pickup truck that he called “Nellie.” White rim tires. Step sides. Rusty tailgate. Gun rack across the back window, but no gun. He’d pick us up from his parents’ house when he got off work. We’d always stop by the local corner store on our way home. His grandfather built the store… It’s not there anymore. They tore it down a few years ago.
While stopped at that store, my brother and I would stand up in the bench seat of his truck. We’d stand up and look out over that huge dusty dashboard, watching stray dogs, cotton fields, old tobacco barns, silos, and pine trees. We’d watch how the white people and black people wouldn’t make eye contact. Or how the hispanic migrant workers would just stand off to the side of the store and watch everyone else. We’d watch how sometimes a nod of familiarity would pass between the races, but this was rare.
One night my dad drove me all the way into Savannah Georgia. This was in his new truck. Not Nellie. And I wasn’t allowed to stand up anymore, I was too big and it was too unsafe. We were headed to the Savannah Civic Center. Just me and my dad.
When we finally found a parking space and made our way inside, people were everywhere. Everywhere. The place was crowded and noisy and scary for me. I couldn’t have been over twelve years old. I’d never been to a concert before. I had no idea what to expect.
We found the bathrooms and I had to go in the ladies’ room by myself. I didn’t want to.
Then we bought a few hot dogs and drinks and found our seat. We sat in front of some older girls who screamed “Barbara! Barbara! Barbara!” through the entire concert.
I just watched. I watched the band play. Studied how they each played a different instrument but the end result seemed so… unified. I was mesmerized at the bright lights. The booming sounds. The sea of people. The applause that shook the concrete floor under my feet.
I wanted to do what I watched the band do that day.
I had no idea that going to a Barbara Mandrell concert would had such an impact on my life.
Do you remember experiencing something like this as a kid? Something that so marked you that it could change the course of your life forever? Did you know it at the time? Did you recognize the stamp it was making on your future? I didn’t.
papa grew up on a farm w/old pickup trucks – had to drive them when I got old enough. Sunday afternoons were special – after church we would load up the horses in the trailer, hook up to the truck and head 15 miles to the saddle club grounds and compete! Special times Mandy – special times. Thats probably why I will ride Amos today in the snow and remember dad.
Good post.
When I was in the 4th grade, our class took a field trip to see one of Houston’s top orchestras. They played a piece from Jurassic Park, and the director told us things to listen for that told the story.
I was mesmerized, on the edge of my seat. I realized that music could express more than just sound, and I fell in love. I’ve fallen deeper and deeper ever since!
I don’t remember any moments from my childhood, at least not postive life altering ones.
My brain seemed to work different from everyone else I knew, I thought I mught be some alien from another planet.
My life altering moment was my first visit to the Museum of Modern Art. All those insane ideas expressed in art of Picasso and Dali. They were called genius, so maybe being a little crazy wasn’t such a bad thing. My love of the arts began then.
Fun Update: I’ll be driving my dad’s pick up truck tomorrow – to go play with my nephews for the day! And I drove the tractor today when we fed the cows. Woohoo!!!
When my grandmother and I became pen pals.
Have fun in Georgia.
Watch out for the devil.
I hear he went “DOWN to Georgia.”
Hmm… lifechanging…. I guess when my daddy adopted me. WAS REALLY huge and then I went to a Carpenter concert afterwards (yes I am that old) and I actually met Karen. Superstar still remains one of my favorites.
Mandy, it sounds like we grew up in the same place! I rode more miles in my dad’s truck than I ever have in a car.
Driving it taught me to drive without power steering. I cried when it finally went to pickup truck heaven!
I am trying to remember an even like that and the only things I can think of were GA Camp when I felt called to ministry……but I was marked by music as well. And I not only saw Barbara Mandrell, I interviewed her for the school paper! My uncle played steel guitar for the Statlers and they toured together.
Hope you have a blast! Happy Thanksgiving!
I had the same experience going to a Louise Mandrell concert in 1980. I was 14.
Hmmm.. the first truck I remember my dad with was a ’57 Chevy – grey primer, no paint. We got to ride in the back on the way home from Gma’s after school – he’d pop the clutch in front of the house and we’d scream as we bounced around. Amazing none of us got hurt – how DID we live through our childhood without a gazillion safety devices?
First concert – John Denver when I was 10. Sang every word along with him. Wanted to be onstage. Changed the words and sang “Thank God I’m a country girl” – even though I wasn’t a country girl. Good memories.
you grew up a world away from me. in so many senses of the word.
i loved the imagery of this post.