Death rides

Miko, you asked for stories and it’s your lucky day because I’m feeling generous. I’m also going back to an idea that I had mentioned in a post, which is that we should each post a picture of ourselves from when we were younger. Who’s with me?

Here is me and my grandfather at the pumpkin patch. According to the date on the photo I was 5 years old. I look like a boy because my mother had just recently chopped all my hair off. I still haven’t fully ever forgiven her for it. I remember crying in the salon as I watched my hair scatter to the floor. Clearly, my mother didn’t know how to dress me either. Though, the hat I’m wearing is actually very symbolic because almost everyone in my family has a picture of themselves wearing this hat. My grandfather thought it was a funny thing to do, and so several generation of my family have worn it.

My grandfather is an interesting character. He’s in the junk business. He crushes cars, salvages scrap metal, and all that kind of stuff, and he loves it. He’s 90 years old and still goes to work at the junkyard everyday. He’s been on the go his entire life and doesn’t know how to stop. When he goes away to Florida in the winter he frequently attends yard sales to keep himself busy, buying shirts that look like they came from George Costanza’s father’s closet. My grandfather has always loved junk, when he was in his twenties he had a great job working as a mechanic for the city, but he couldn’t keep away from the junk. He simultaneously rented space at a junkyard, and soon his city job got in the way of his junk job, and he quit and has been renting space at a junkyard ever since. (This is the same junkyard where my grandparents found the dead body.)

He used to get jobs cleaning out old buildings. He could keep anything he wanted and dispose of the rest. Once I went with him on one of these jobs. This one took a long time. It was a massive warehouse type building that was later turned into a hotel. The building was filled with everything and anything you can imagine. Beat up cars, thousands of tires, at least 300 dilapidated bicycles, dolls, strollers, hubcaps, large sheets of metal, pots and pans, clothes, torn up mattresses and couches, busted TVs, VCRs, record players, etc. It was really endless. Three guys had been renting the space for years, and then they stopped paying rent. Eventually they skipped town, leaving their years of collected treasures behind. My mother was always coming to the job site trying to get involved, but my grandfather gets mad when she interferes. One day he threatened to drive over her car if she didn’t leave, and she knew to take him serious. My grandfather does not kid around, which she was quite aware of from personal experience. He once drove over and crushed her car. I was maybe about 9 years old at the time and could barely believe my eyes. He warned her he would do it and she didn’t listen and next thing you knew her car was scrap metal.

My cousin Matt got to live out every little boys dream. My grandfather used to take him to work with him and let him help him crush cars. He still says it was like the best toy he ever played with in his life. My sister, other cousin, and I were so jealous. We girls weren’t allowed because my grandfather didn’t believe it was a female’s place. I often thought about disguising myself as my cousin, especially considering I had the butch hair to do it.

One last story before I get back to the pumpkin patch.

My grandfather is notorious for getting injured at work. One of the worst incidents happened about six years ago. He was by himself up on a latter at the junkyard torching an old bus. He lost his balance fell to the ground and the torch, still ignited, landed on his head. He has no recollection of the events following falling off the latter. We don’t know if he went unconscious or how long the torch was on his head. He didn’t even remember getting home; though, he packed all his tools into his truck and drove. He was in a daze when he walked into the house with his head black, and his hat singed to his head. My grandmother started screaming, and my grandfather didn’t understand what all the fuss was about until she showed him his head. He had to have several skin graphs done, but it’s still noticeably scarred. This was so typical of him that my family and I could do nothing but laugh.

Going to the pumpkin patch with my grandfather, sister, and cousins is one of my favorite memories growing up. My grandfather was and still is friends with a guy who owns a farm in southern RI, and he arranged it so he could take us there every year to pick pumpkins, gourds, and Indian corn; although, picking those items wasn’t the fun part. The fun was driving around the farm with my grandfather. We would all pile in the back of a truck filled with hay, just like what you ride in for a haunted hay ride. My grandfather is the fastest and craziest driver I’ve ever known. As soon as we approached the truck we all knew to immediately climb in and hold on tight because my grandfather never ever stopped to see if we were all in, and as soon as the engine was turned he put the gas pedal to the floor. The narrow, winding dirt roads throughout the farm were often gouged with deep tire marks and covered in puddles. Typically a person slows down at such road hazards, but not my grandfather; instead, the pedal pushes further to the floor. The truck was often up on two wheels, and we were constantly being sent airborne from our seats. We were always on the lookout for each other ready to grab a shirt, leg, arm, or whatever it took to keep everyone in the truck. Oh, and there was always the threat of being splashed with the mucky farm puddles. We had a couple close calls, but we always knew that if we didn’t die we would have the ride of our lives. I think it’s these death rides in the pumpkin patch that has made me a lover of motorcycle rides. (I don’t own one, if I thought I could drive one, I’d get my motorcycle license in a second.) I’ve been thinking lately that my sister, cousins, and I need to talk to my grandfather about a pumpkin patch reunion. I think it would be fun for their spouses to experience.

I hope you all have a nice vision in your head of me with a butch hair cut and ridiculous clothing flopping around in the back of a hay filled truck.

And post your pictures!