Childhood Dreams Fulfilled???

From birth to age 13, I lived in Plano, Texas. Plano is just north of Dallas, and, at that time, was one of those towns known for having good football, and a lot of wealthy residents. (And troubled teens - I got out just in time!!!) Plano is/was divided into East Plano and West Plano. West Plano was where all of the rich folks lived, and East Plano is where the rest of us were. (Of course, now there are also lots of wealthy subdivisions east of East Plano, just to confuse things.)

My sister and I were "latchkey kids" (I literally have several school pictures with my key hanging from a chain or shoe string from my neck - what a dweeb!), so we (especially me) got into a little mischief now and then, but it was necessary to keep from being bored. Our neighborhood was bordered on one side by 14th Street. At the time, this was a busy 4 lane road, with neighborhoods on one side, and commercial properties on the other. My best comparison for it is like Coursey Blvd, between Sherwood Forrest and Stumberg, is today - a good amount of well flowing traffic. The main attractions for us on 14th Street were Dairy Queen, 7-11, and farther down-past the semi residential area-Tom Thumb. When the allowance money would come in, I'd pull out the Sweet Thunder from the garage, and hit the streets. Getting from our street to the other side of 14th Street was always scary as hell, but with DQ and 7-11 in my sights, I had no choice, right? My favorite DQ Treats were the Buster Bar and Push-up. Marg liked the Dilly Bar. And we were both fascinated with the chocolate dipped ice cream cone, with the signature DQ curl at the tip of the ice cream. Crossing a side street from DQ, you could get to 7-11. I spent many hours and many dollars in that place. Loved the cherry Slurpee the best (Marg like the Coke flavored - yuck!). One day we got "accosted" as we left the store by the clerk, because he said we shoplifted (which, believe it or not, we didn't). He demanded that Margaret open her purse, but she stood her ground with all the righteous indignation that a 12 year old can muster. I think that experience ended with Mom driving up there later and chewing the guy out - and picking up a carton of True Blues while she was there.

On days when I was really brave, rich and bored, I'd take my bike all the way to the Tom Thumb. This was really scary, because, even though it was on the same side of 14th Street as our house, the sidewalk ended about half way there. Plus, you had to cross the intersection at Jupiter Road, which was like crossing Sherwood Forest Blvd at Coursey. Then, I had to worry about finding a place to lock up the bike once I got there. But, once I made it into the parking lot, it was always worth it. For me, the toy aisle rocked! I bought every new Matchbox and Hot Wheels car that came out. If I had kept all of those cars, and kept them in mint condition, I could retire right now. But I wasn't thinking about that back then. It was way too much fun to build my Lincoln Log houses and have my cars drive back and forth. (If this part of the story is sounding too much like a normal childhood, just know that in my Matchbox/Hot Wheels/Lincoln Logs scenarios, most of the visiting was for illicit purposes - I watched a lot of Prime Time TV at that age.)



The other Nirvana for us growing up was Stuckey's. (Has the phrase "white trash childhood" passed through your thoughts yet?) My grandparents lived about an hour north of us, and about half way between our houses was a Stuckey's. We usually visited them once a month or so, and more often in the summers. In all of those trips I cannot remember a single incident when Margaret and I did not BEG my mother to stop at Stuckey's. We knew which exit it was on, so for about 5 miles in advance, we'd start working her over. "Please, Mama. Please, Mama. Oh please, oh please, oh please. Pleeeeeeeease let us stop - just this once. We never get to stop. I've got to go to the bathroom - really bad. I don't think I can hold it." I'll admit it - my memory is not what it used to be - but I don't think she ever stopped. (I'm sure she stopped occasionally, but I have no recollection of ever going in there.) In our most desperate attempts to get her to stop, we'd gather together all of our supernatural abilities, and mimic her turning the steering wheel onto the exit ramp. The concentration was uncanny. And, every now and then, it would almost work. The car WOULD actually start to veer towards the ramp. But, she'd always regain control, and the green roof would fly past us. Damn - we almost had her that time. And, then, mystically, things would revert to normal as if Stuckey's didn't even exist. "How much longer 'til we get there? She's kicking my seat!!!"

So why all of the nostalgia? Well, when Ray and I drove back to Baton Rouge from Lexington, we were looking for something to eat. We were approaching Birmingham, and I have rules for when and where we can stop (either before or after a big town, not in it because that's usually where the scary parts are). So it's getting close to 6:00, and I go into my "where are we going to stop" mode. And then...up ahead on the right...I see it. The green roof and yellow sign of a Stuckey's. OH...MY...GOSH - am I seeing what I think I'm seeing? Because it wasn't JUST a Stuckey's - it was a Stuckey's with a Dairy Queen attached! Ding, ding, ding - we have a winner!


So we pull into the parking lot, and I manage to stay in the car at least until Ray puts it in Park. All I'm thinking is "Steak Finger Basket and worthless junk to spend money on!" OK, I won't drag it out. DQ sucked! They no longer have Steak Finger Baskets, and I don't think I recognized a single thing on the Ice Cream part of the menu. Talk about disappointment. But I still had Stuckey's waiting for me. But, as much as I tried, couldn't find a single cheesy souvenir that I wanted. I ended up buying a bag of Cherry Sours and Peanut Butter Logs. What a bummer!

So, maybe my childhood wasn't so bad. And maybe Mom knew what she was doing by denying us the experience of going to Stuckey's (yes, there's still bitterness there). All I can say is that I think I've gotten it out of my system (for now).

P.S. Whether I'm wrong about this or not, I don't REALLY think I had a total white trash childhood - that was just poetic license. Don't get me wrong - Margaret and I were a bit on the bumpkin side. In fact, she still is. We didn't have a lot of money, but we always had what we needed. But, both of my parents always insisted on us having good manners and knowing wrong from right. Of course knowing wrong from right doesn't mean I always chose right. I was kind of like the 1970's female Eddie Haskel. But I really DIDN'T take anything from the 7-11...that day.

I'll post my pictures of the not so exciting visit to Dairy Queen and Stuckey's the next time I get on my PC at home.