Still, the Taste

There was a day in the dead of Winter, when the weatherman on the Black & White TV said everyone should stay home. Of course, Daddy went to work, cause he did. I was a tyke.

Melv had to go into work at Mr. Cleo’s Machinist Shop, and Mom was tasked with the drive, in the white Buick that was dripping icicles like a waterfall. We still lived in the trailer park, so as I say, I was a tyke.

I hadn’t had breakfast, Mom fixed a bowl of my favorites, Froot Loops. Back then, car seats had not been invented, and as a family, we were not fans of seatbelts.

Mom drove, Melv sat up front, and I had the back seat to myself, with the bowl and a blond headed Pee Wee doll with a tiny red dress with black trim, from Grants.

We made it out of the trailer park and across Gordon Road, past the Baptist Church that was somehow not quite the Baptist we were.

I was munching on the Froot Loops, and there was somewhat an argument in the front seat, which I did not worry so much about, because at least in this car, plates could not go flying and belts were not involved.

As I recall, I was standing on the hump with one hand on the blue vinyl of the front seat looking out the windshield when the car suddenly began to slide, then spin. I lost the back of the front seat, the Froot Loops, my feet, and was flung around amid the flying cereal.

We hit the rock cut. I wound up in the floorboard.

The Buick had such a coating of ice, as did the rock face, that there was not a scratch on that invincible car. The only casualty of the accident was my bowl of Froot Loops.

Mom did, however, become more adamant about never driving on ice. It did not slow her down under less inclement conditions though. My love of speed is inherited from both parents.

Melv may fill in what happened about his day, I am no longer certain. I was understandably upset about my breakfast.

As you see, I am still a junkie.