|Dad painting in North Carolina--|
probably in the 80s
|The white rapist van revealed...|
The only time I ever fully appreciated that van was when we went to the local drive-in movie theater. I could hear the gasp of the jealous crowd when we backed into our spot and opened the large double doors and everyone could see us kids already laid out on our futon—homemade popcorn in paper grocery sacks in hand.
|The shagging wagon minus the hand-painted curtains|
My younger brothers squealed and jumped in joy as the small bus pulled into our gravel driveway. I can still remember my Dad’s first words after he set the parking brake and jumped out of the front seat, “Who wants to help me paint the curtains for this shagging wagon?”
By this point in my life, I was too much of a bitchy teen to appreciate the fun the “shagging wagon” had to offer. I can’t imagine a vehicle that fit my Dad’s personality more than that orange nightmare.
He loved the bus so much that he bought a white camper just like it—except it didn’t run as well (which was hard to believe that was possible). Poor Dad decided to drive my brothers down to Big Bend National Park to camp in the white camper for Spring Break. Somehow the van made it down there, but coming home was a whole different story.
|Dad and I in Taos, NM. We almost moved there in the early 90s|
until Dad decided there was too much stucco there...
I have never seen an arm more sunburned in my life. Dad was defeated and he ended up selling both vans soon after that failed trip.
|Dad and I when I was about 4 years old in Dublin, TX.|