My older cousin was watching this old Neil Young video…

Yes, he is black. Music does transcends all colors.

I, guess!

But, I digress.

Possums, if you scroll to  number 3:14 , there is my dad’s big black “Jimmy” truck, followed my Uncle Allan’s long boat of a car and then my rich Uncle Danny’s Mercedes Benz. I remember, we were just coming from a day of frolicking on the beach at the Bluffs. Good times. It’s funny how no matter where you are, you can always bring the ghetto with you-the bucket of KFC, ghettoblaster of ole tunes, and hair pieces as long as the coast of Mexico. We were all such fine hot messes drenched in the sand dunes.

SIDE NOTE: I used to hate that truck. It used to rip my panty hose every time I would have to “climb” up into it.  My mother never told me how she finally got my dad to get rid of the car. But, one weekend she sent us three over to my Aunt Lorraine’s house for a sleepover, told me something to the tune of her and my father needing to spend some time together. Well, when I came back on Sunday night, my father was in a foul mood, but looked satisfied and my mother was happy. On Monday night, my dad’s beloved truck was gone.

She told me later on, “Ah, my Chile, all it took was two strokes and a bottle of Jamaican rum.”

When I asked her,”what two strokes?”

“Ah, my child, when you get older,” she said.

I did find out later on what two strokes meant, over and over and over again. But, I am here to tell you that it took more than two strokes for me…sometimes five, if one should be so lucky!

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