“Hurry!” shouted Tim, “Up here.” I eyed my chubby toes as I criss-crossed my way toward the wide swing that took up most of Gammaw’s patio. Scared to death we were of those giant June bugs that hovered the’ round the patio lights. Tim and I were often lookouts for one another, as we shared the same fear—oh, those warm, safe and loving summer nights on Gammaw’s patio where the family sat on whatever chair was available, but the coveted seat was always the swing. The swing to us was like a life-boat that saved people from harm. Once on the swing, we could relax and enjoy our desserts, simple fare—a scoop of ice cream, ( in those days shortly following the wars and hardships that came along during the 1940’s, Gammaw pampered her large family with something called “imitation ice milk”), and we loved it to that very last spoonful.
The summer nights were a haven of my childhood. Every single person carried that warm “Christmas-like” feeling inside them, and didn’t even know it. We laughed, and always had our look out for Gammaw—where was she now—this mistress of the divine. The patio lights shone yellow against the newly shellacked wood of the patio roof, and Tim and I swung, and yelled warnings to anyone who got close to one of those bugs. Gammaw used to pick them up in her hands and squish them, but she always told us not to follow her example because June bugs could “pinch” you, and so we watched in awe as our hearts grew lighter and lighter from the love that surrounded us in the people who loved us so much as to make us the center of their lives.
Anticipation was also a part of our joy, because that ivy covered patio often meant more than what appeared to the eye. Often times it meant a surprise was coming, and we never knew what! Tonight was one of those special nights. “Tan’s here,” cried Gammaw, and as she said this we could all hear the muffled growl of an engine turning off on the other side of the ivy-covered fence. Tim and I scooted off the swing and ran to through the gate to greet fun-Tan. Gammaw joined us and the rest of the family as she ushered the bunch of us through the patio gate so we could all see that new blue ’55 Buick with the hard white top. Everybody was happy, and Tan even waited for us to flock around her new toy, an expensive machine that could form only a fantasy of future vagueness in our minds, a fantasy of new, nice and unspeakable (for us, the world was moving faster than anyone’s common vocabulary). But we didn’t know what else to feel, because we were already so happy, and now even happier that Tan had make one of her surprise visits—which made the night a “double scoop” surprise.
As Gammaw kept us from wandering into the streets she playfully mimicked the sound bites that were popular on the radio at the time about how the 1955 Buick “purred like a kitten.” And Tan would tap the accelerator to give us the sound of luxury in her new car, that same sound that “purred like a kitten.” It was a wonderful time to be alive, and no group of people could have been happier.
Fast forward to a year later at 408 S. Backer. Another typical hot and sunny day when one could be heard the latest hit, “A White Sport Coat and Pink Carnation,” through the open windows of passing cars, and yet another brand new car, blue with a hard white top, almost a clone of Tan’s flirtation with luxury, drove up to the exact same spot where Tan had driven her car just a few month’s before—and the similarity was almost too much for my seven-year-old mind to process. No, it wasn’t night time, and we weren’t enjoying scoops of dessert and even more scoops of love, but it seemed for an instant to be virtually impossible for yet another brand new blue and white car to drive up and stop at “my house”, my Gammaw’s house– this time, the driver of the brand new blue and white car sped to a stop leaving a puff of dust behind. The driver was none other than Joan’s long-time boyfriend and instead of stopping short of the gate to amplify the element of surprise, Don drove his shiny new toy right up to where the gate opened, and stopped with a jerk. Don liked to drive and was good at it, and now became one of the only two people to surprise my senses with a pink carnation inside a second brand new blue and white car with a hard white top.
Tim and I rushed through the gate to catch Don before he rushed through from his side, and, as we knew he would, he gave us a full tour of his and Joan’s wedding present. He opened the hood, and explained the workings of the engine, which neither of us could actually follow. But that didn’t matter. What mattered was that he was such a proud and sturdy young man who knew so much, and he took the time to tell us things that no one else would bother. When we got to Don’s explanation of the inside levers and pedals, I, for some reason, became fascinated with a chrome shaft that extended from the floor to just below the turn signal. It read “overdrive.” And I remember being so proud to actually have a question for this vital, young friend of Joanie’s, before he answered it. And you know, to this day, I don’t understand a thing about what that “overdrive lever” does (or did) for the car, except that you only used it driving on highways. “Repeat,” said Don, “you only use this gear after all the other gears have been used. It makes the car ride smoother.”
Tour over, Tim and I waited and admired this second new car in our Elvis Presley lives, when Don disappeared briefly into Gammaw’s house, and came out with buckets and towels. With all the earnestness and patience of a highly skilled pilot or astronaut who conveyed pride and “correctness” in every instruction he gave us, Don taught Tim and I how to wash and dry his brand new beautiful car. We started with the by squirting the top with a hose, and when the car was wet all over, we put suds on the left head light, etc., etc., etc. (Believe it or not, I taught my own kids how the exact same step-by-step ritual for washing cars.)
This was a good day for me and my brother. We followed every instruction to the tiniest detail, and worked up a sweat in the process. Then, for our reward, young, friendly Don took these two smudgy-handed kids that came with marrying Joanie, for a ride over to show his new car to his brother, Dan.
And now for the surprise of all, the surprise of what blue and white can and does so often mean to me. Eleven years later, as though passing me the salt or giving me some other unremarkable “thing”, my Aunt Joan handed me the keys to her and Don’s blue and white Chevy that had been so much a part of their early years of marriage. “Here,” she said, “Don and I want you to have it.” And no gift to come along either before or after it has meant so much to me, especially at that time in my life. I was eighteen. I no longer had Tim. I didn’t know what to say then, and still don’t know an appropriate response. Joan and I never talked about it. So…..Thank you, Aunt Joan. And thank you, young soldier Don, for surprising me, for teaching me, and for passing along your wedding gift that got me to and from college. Following in your footsteps: To thine own self be true.
Tags: OrchardofIdeas
