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
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