Sunday, August 13, 2017

The Mode of Many Colors

Hick has always been the resourceful guy, as pointed out in a comment yesterday by blog buddy Jimmy. Hick knows the value of a buck, and I was raised pinching pennies myself.

I went away to college, and spent my first several working years in southwest Missouri. A job back in my hometown area led me to renting a townhouse just down the road from my new workplace. There were four apartment buildings, two of them being two-bedroom townhouses, and the other two being one-bedroom units.

My mother must have been somewhat nervous about where I would live when I came back. Not that she wouldn't have welcomed me back to my childhood bedroom, which she'd filled with craft materials. I think it was more of a case of her worrying that I'd live in a hovel. After all, in Mountain Grove, I'd taken a room over a garage on the end of a home of people who ran a trailer park. And at my next job in Sheldon, I rented a room in an old railroad hotel, second floor, about 10 feet from the railroad tracks. Still in use, I might add. The third place was a little house in Cuba that had a gas furnace that went WHOOSH every time it kicked on, and had squirrels in the attic.

"Oh, I've found just the place for you, honey! They're NEW! It's a townhouse, just built. They're really nice. Come and at least look at them. If it's too much money for you, I'll pay part of your rent. Just give them a chance." So I did. There was absolutely no other apartment housing in the area at the time, save for an old motel with one-room units, and a ramshackle building by the railroad tracks. I didn't need my mom's money for rent. I'd had five years of supporting only myself. Without much outlay for rent!

Mom was thrilled when I moved in. So was I. It was just far enough away from her, but just close enough. There was a pool, where I spent most of the summer. The owner advertised this as a singles complex, and there was only one couple with a little girl, and another with a teenage boy. So the pool was a calm place to be. That's where I met Hick. I was swimming in the deep end, in over my head, and he was sitting on the side, talking to another guy who lived in his one-bedroom building. I had a friend a few doors down who taught at a different school, and we all hung out together.

On the 1st and 3rd weekends, Hick had his boys for a visit. The apartment denizens and I might be floating around in the pool on a Friday evening, and see Hick turn into the drive with his boys. "Here comes Sanford and sons," one of them would say. They said it to Hick's face, too, and he didn't mind. He had a $400 truck, a 1965 Chevy pickup, that was all colors of the rainbow. Only not pastel. I don't know what color that truck was originally, but it had been patched and painted more than a handful of times. It was Hick's sole mode of transportation.

Once Hick and I became a thing, he said he was going to paint his truck. He was an hourly worker then, with an hour drive to and from the city each day, and didn't have a lot of money. He used to say, "I'm gonna get an Earl Scheib paint job on my truck!" But only when he got enough money. It cost $99.99. I think Hick was kind of proud that he'd snagged him a teacher. That still meant something back then. To him, anyway, coming from a home with a sick mom, a blind dad, and no indoor plumbing. Heck, Hick was proud to have a job and a $400 truck!

Anyhoo...Hick asked me what color he should paint his truck. That's when I knew he was serious. I told him that white for the upper part of the cab, and a medium blue for the rest, would look nice. The next time I saw Hick drive in, he'd painted his truck. With cans of spray paint. Oh, and he'd only painted one door, because that's all the paint he could afford at that time. But you know what?

It was the passenger door he painted.

That's my Sweet Baboo.

18 comments:

  1. Replies
    1. I'm like those Sour Patch Kids. First I'm sour (the first XX years of my life), and then I'm sweet (for a couple of seconds).

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  2. I figured he was the romantic type!

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    1. Yep! Once, he even told me that he liked my skirt, because it reminded him of a circus tent.

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  3. There you go, I knew I liked this guy, he painted the most important door after all. Coming from similar circumstances I can relate to only affording so much spray paint at a time, nice paint jobs take a little bit longer.

    I am proud to hear the story of how you two met and knew it was meant to be when he asked you about the color.

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    1. Yes, Hick was thinking of me when he let me choose the color, and painted my door first!

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    2. I forgot to thank you for the shout out, I appreciate you Val, probably not as much as Hick does but Thank you anyways.

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    3. I'm always happy to shout-out (or EXPOSE...I'm lookin' at YOU, Sioux) a blog buddy when I feel it's warranted.

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  4. Val--This is one of the sweetest stories I've ever read. (Chicken Soup is looking for love stories. Part of this--and added onto--could be a doozy of a story.)

    The sweetness of this tale almost makes me take back all the snarky remarks I've made about Hick. Almost.

    It's such a wonderful example of showing instead of telling. You showed us so much about Hick, through the details, instead of telling us. Bravo.

    And sniff. Sniff. This piece touched my heart (and no comments about how I'm "touched" either).

    I volunteer to look at your love story submission WHEN you write it. Not if. When.

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    1. Oh, dear! I hope your heart it okay!

      Thanks for the offer. Not that it puts pressure on me or anything...

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  5. The passenger door was painted? That really is very very sweet :)

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    1. Yes! Hick painted MY door first! Actually, it's all he ever painted, because he saved up some money and traded that truck for a $600 brown truck.

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  6. THIS makes Hick lovable. CS is seeking love stories. You could really weave a good one with this that would knock mine out of the running. I can visualize all of it.

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    1. Thank you for believing in me, but I'm pretty sure it would take an extinction-level meteor to knock one of your stories out of the Chicken Soup running!

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    1. I don't know what came over me. It's like all at once, I was drawing a salary for working as Hick's public relations rep.

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  8. True love! HeWho will do little things like that to make me feel special. I always make him feel special ....

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    1. I remember how HeWho put the radio in your golf cart!

      I can't say that I always make Hick feel special, but I definitely give him attention! Whether it's the kind he wants or not.

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