| Cherry Picker |
| One of the first things that comes to mind when I think of my childhood toys is a visit to my Grandpa Darrell in the hospital.� He was dying of cancer though I didn't really understand it so well at the time; I was only about three years old.� He gave my brother and I each, a Hotwheels truck.� I got a white cherry picker with a picture of red cherries on the doors.� A cherry picker is a truck with a liftable bucket on the bed.� My brother got a red truck similar in details, but I don?t remember his so well. |
| Together my brother and I played on the hospital floor, crashing our trucks into one another while my mother and grandmother spoke with my grandpa.� The room hadn't quite escaped the seventies.� It was pretty small and darkly decorated with a mauve colored carpet.� The hospital bed seemed very big and very far away. |
| A short while later in life, my brother Steve destroyed the car Grandpa gave him. I kept�� mine at my Grandma's house.� He talked me into giving it to him as he often did with things of mine.� I regretted it and stole it back after he did minimal damage to it. |
| Grandpa Darrell died at his house with my Grandmother present.� She called our house and broke the news to my mom.� She started crying in the kitchen while my dad, my brother and I sat at the table.� I really don't remember who told me grandpa died, mom or dad, but I don't think I was surprised that he was dead.� I remember crying, sure, but not being surprised. |
| I knew that I needed to keep that truck, it had meaning for me, even at three.� Ever since, I'm pretty sure that I kept every gift ever given to me.� Only a few were lost in time, but the rest I still have. |
| I still have the white cherry picker too, minus the bucket on the bed and the painted cherries wore off long ago.� It just looks like a white pick-up truck in a bag with many other cool cars that my nephew finds much more interesting.� Not me though, that truck is the most important toy I have ever had.� My grandpa gave it to me the last time I saw him alive.� It's going to be 20 years old sometime this year. |
| Grand Lunches |
| For many years my Grandma Jean, my grandma-ma (Great Grandmother) and I would go out to lunch nearly once a week.� We'd make arrangements of what restaurant we would go to on our previous outing.� It would usually alternate between a few good Chinese restaurants like Master Wok and King?s Buffet, and Petrikios--a small Mexican resaraunt on Holmes Road. |
| Both grandmas would try to slip me money without the other one knowing while the three of us talked at the table.� I would tell jokes that Grandma Jean would have to repeat to my almost deaf Grandma-ma.� The last time we all got to go out was in the first week of December 2001.� Grandma-ma had been feeling badly but was feeling a little better than she had been for the last few weeks so she agreed to come to lunch. |
| The three of us ate lunch at Kings Buffet much like we?d done before, with me trying desparately to refuse money the two of them offered me.� After lunch I walked Grandma-ma to the car and helped her in.� When they drove off, I waved to my great grandmother for the last time.� She died two weeks later. |
| It wasn't a surprise, she was approaching 92 years of age.� I was just thankful as well as lucky to know her for 20 years of my life.� But I still miss our lunches together. |
| Cautionary Tale |
| I am going to write something about myself that involves my family.� I am absolutely uncomfortable writing about myself or my family.� I like my private life private and my personal feelings left personal.� I find it often infuriating when teachers require me to divulge personal information of family related stories to them, as many of them do.� I have gone along with it all my life to get a good grade no matter how wronged I felt.� Only the teacher would see it, after all, so it wouldn't be too bad. |
| Posting personal family stories that hold a special place in my heart on the Internet is where I draw the line.� I have supplied two important, very special family stories of mine to be displayed, but the rest are mine and mine alone.� I will write one more story that involves my family, but not my biological family.� If this interests you dear reader...read on. |
| The Shop |
| My junior year of high school was a very long year.� I went through a rough time as many high schoolers did at that time, but I always found solace in reading and drawing.� I loved literature and I loved art.� Which is perhaps the reason I fell in love with comic books.� They had always gotten me through tough times before.� Comic books taught moral values to me and gave me a good feeling while reading them.�� Since I was having a rough time, I decided that I needed more comics.� So I went to Atomic Comics. |
| Inside was a completely different, totally isolated world.� Away from any problems that I might have had or any bad thing that can affect me.� Also inside were a bunch of geeks like me.� I developed a very quick bond to all of these geeks and we formed a sort of family over time. |
| Every day, I would go to the shop after school and not leave until ten or eleven at night. �On weekends I could stay later, after the store was closed.� At least eight regulars would be there, talking, playing games, reading, screaming and yelling or reading comics.� It was the most fun I've ever had in my life.� These people are still my friends and still my family.� They represent the very best time of my life. |
| Family Stories |
| by Aaron Reese |