I recently submitted this short to Reminisce Magazine under the psuedonym of June Bridger. Please watch for it
I
swallow my last morsel of chocolate, the bitter biting my parched throat
awakening a precious memory of my childhood. Southeastern Idaho in the mid
1960's. Dad drove a turquoise blue pick-up everyday to feed the cattle. The
exceptions were when the cattle were out on the Bureau of Land Management (BLM)
range for the summer. Summer in this case was just late enough in the spring
that all the cows had calved and the snow had given way to tender shoots of
grass.
On one
of many spring days that Dad didn't take the pick-up out to work, I learned
that being a small child left to her own devises could be very rewarding. The
first time I stood tall enough to open the pick-up door and climb in was for
purely innocent reasons--to play driving. Yep, we had an old car sitting in the
driveway but its tires were missing. Thus the pick-up looked to much more
inviting. It, after all, could really drive down the road.
Being a
child of 3 or 4-years of age, I firmly gripped the steering wheel and happily
"pretended" to drive and bounce down the road. I timed the trip to
the distant corner, played with the blinker, making it click several times, and
turned the corner. That's when I discovered the brown bag sitting on the seat
beside me. A brown bag with "IGA" lettering.
Of course
I knew that spelled grocery store and wondered why would Dad leave a grocery
bag in the truck? Hum. Did he buy something that he forgot to take into the
house? (Visualize me sitting a little taller with indignant righteousness--
even if I didn't know those words at the time, I knew the correct posture to
adopt the appropriate attitude.)
I opened
the bag and what do you think I found? No, my dad wasn't a drinker so it wasn't
liquor. I found the biggest hunk of chocolate in the world. (Okay, my limited
world.) It wasn't melting, the temps were still cool. But it was open… I
slithered down in the seat, making myself invisible should Mom glance out the
windows looking for me. Carefully unwrapping one end, (You may want to imagine
"careful" for a pre-school-er) I sniffed, I licked and yeah, I bit.
Problem with that first bite was that it wasn't big enough. I stretched my jaw
wide and sank my teeth into the chocolate expecting it to break off as easily
at the first nibble had.
Was I
surprised! I have no recollection of how long it took me to whittle away at
that hunk of chocolate to hide my teeth marks. Do you have any idea the skill
it takes to etch a smooth line with your front teeth? Let it suffice to say
that I never found a hunk of chocolate in Dad's truck again, at least not milk
chocolate. I did find on occasion a hunk of white chocolate-- the real stuff
that gives me a headache so I leave it alone. I've also found Spanish
peanuts--I think I finished off most of the bag. And cookies…my favorite, and
apparently Dad's too were Keebler's striped chocolate.
As a kid
I thought I was so clever at hiding my thievery. Now I just smile knowing Dad
kept my secret. He generally took the pick-up in the morning, bringing it home
at lunch and often left it in the driveway in the afternoon. Of course I had to
time it right, eat lunch with Dad, take a nap and steal treats before the older
kids got home from school. Dad never spanked me for eating his goodies, nor did
he say anything to me about it. But I know now--he knew and he helped his baby
girl keep her Bittersweet Secret.
No comments:
Post a Comment