Bill was a truck driver. When he booked a gig in the summertime, Mum and I accompanied him on the road, and I was privileged to ride in the bed behind the driver’s seat in the tractor. What an amazing discovery—a bed inside a truck! Who knew? It was a cozy little mattress, with a nice dingy orange blanket that made me feel like I had a cubbyhole of my own—my own place in the world. It was fun. We looked down upon all the cars and could see for miles.
I’d help them unload cushions and light boxes and help Mum pack dishes. I would meticulously clean the truck with window cleaner and paper towels, sweep the emptied trailer and fold the furniture pads (“furni pads” to us pros) with pride. I loved these times; I felt useful and a part of something big and significant. They weren't permitted to use illegal drugs on the road—I believe that is why there was a sense of normalcy and fun for us.
For a week or two we felt like a real family. A family of carnies.
Excerpt from chapter fifteen | changes | Everything’s HunkyDory: A Memoir