Sawdust

The smell of sawdust greets my 9-year-old nostrils as I jump into the back seat of my Dad’s silver Ford Ranger truck, and dust flies into the air creating intricately beautiful patterns in the sunlight as I land on the blue pleather seat. I move over to the seat situated behind the driver and wait for my little brother to make his awkward tip-toe entrance into the seat across from me. His bright blonde head shines white in the sun and snot is running down his face as he sits down. We both buckle up tight and wait anxiously. We’re going fishing.

My dad comes from around the back of the truck after loading the tackle-box and the fishing poles. My fishing pole is blue and it has Mickey-Mouse on it.

“Ready to catch some fish boys?” My Dad asks with a grin that makes his blonde mustache crooked. I’ve only seen my Dad without his mustache two times. He looks weird without it. He turned the keys in the ignition and the cassette player came to life. This was one of my favorite things about riding in the truck with my Dad.


Drum-beats reached my ears followed quickly afterward by magnificent guitar riffs in a beautiful harmony and rhythm that my young heart had already engraved upon itself. I didn’t really know what the songs meant, but the voice of that singer blew me away. I looked over at my little brother who was 4 years younger than me and realized that he too already knew these songs by heart. The singer came on and my Father’s gaze caught mine as our blue eyes locked on one another’s and we both sang in perfect timing, yet off-key “Just a city boy! Born and raised in South Detroit…took the Midnight Train goin’ anyyyywheeeere!!!!”

I’m older now and moved out of my parent’s house, my little brother is 18 and he lives in Phoenix for mechanic school, both my parents have gained weird little habits that show that they’re falling into the roles that age demands, and things have changed. I’m no longer a little boy with a blue Mickey-Mouse pole, my little brother is taller than me and thinks he owns the world, and my Dad’s mustache is now gray rather than blonde, but this summer we’re going fishing. I guarantee that as soon as I jump into the back-seat of my Dad’s truck, the saw-dust will fly, the sun will dance, and we’ll crank up Journey and all three of us will be taken back to a time in the past where nothing but the music and our love of each other will remain.