Gone are the days when my ambition was to grow big enough to “sack” items at our family’s grocery store. I recall my Mother’s horror-stricken expression as she swept me out from behind the counter after someone mentioned, “Well, she could stand on a box.”
Grocery folk were always an encouraging lot but my Mother was a firm believer in ruffles and curls and sacking groceries was not listed in either category.
Nor was learning to drive the Family’s Black Model T. My one and only solo practice session resulted in the vehicle lunging forward in the McKay Street driveway and breaking a small (thankfully) board off the bottom left side of the door.
The broken door would haunt me for many years and I vowed to be much more careful. This was probably due to my Mother’s admonishments more than my own pangs of guilt because although I moved on from entertaining the hope of learning to drive our green Grocery truck, I never dismissed the importance those wheels impressed upon my mind.
During the week that truck delivered groceries and on Sunday afternoons it hauled the family over to my Grandparents’ home on Crittenden Drive. Relatives had borrowed the Model T and turned it over in a ditch down near Bowling Green which caused its demise in a more dramatic fashion than my garage door episode.
In later art show years, I firmly believe because that Truck impression had stayed with me, I would graduate from a station wagon to a Volkswagen Campmobile to an extended cab Ford Clubwagon.
From the Clubwagon I was capable of mounting a double booth with display frames and artwork to spare and after serious years of practice, tuck everything back inside a vehicle for a safe trip back home.
Such activities make for an interesting life while at the same time, creating a careful, personal vehicle filing system. It all began with a green grocery truck.