Who knows, or can explain, what makes a lasting childhood memory. I’m sure there’s trillions of moments that make up my life, but perhaps only a few thousand that have stayed with me for close to 60 years.
One of those memories is riding with my dad to the GLF (a long gone farmers cooperative) in his 55 Oldsmobile 88.
Like all cars then, it had a 6 zillion cubic inch engine, which would softly roll you down the driveway, or rip you down the freeway at 100 miles per hour.
Driving to the GLF added another dimension. The long, tree canopied driveway was paved with white stones.
So the mighty Olds purred down the driveway, pinging stones into the wheel well of the car.
That humming of the car and pinging of the stones brought a peacefulness to me that is hard to describe. I just loved the hell out of it.
As a result, I always insisted on riding with dad to whatever place he was going to. Perhaps, just perhaps, he might need something from the GLF.
At that age, I never explained what I was experiencing. I really couldn’t, I was incapable of doing so.
But here I am 60 years later, trying to explain now what I couldn’t then. Trying to get just the right mix of words to make my magical moment magical for you, too.
Very tough task, but great fun.