Tailgates

When a pickup filled with kids in the bed of the truck sped by me today, it brought back memories of my sisters and me riding around sitting on the tailgate of our family station wagon rolling and throwing newspapers.

Our adventures would usually be after school with one of our parents driving (usually our dad), the radio blaring Dizzy Dean’s commentary of New York Yankees baseball games, and the three of us bouncing around on that tailgate.

If mother was the designated driver of our deliveries, we became familiar with 1940s music, certainly not baseball games.

Dangerous – of course tail gate riding was, and our parents knew it, but at the speed we would be driving the dangers probably seemed minimal.

It left me wondering if station wagons with upper and lower doors are even on the road any longer, and if tailgates are even called tailgates these days.

Station wagons were a standard in our family since they seemed to be made for a family of five, and they were perfect for delivering newspapers.

The driver had the list of addresses of people who subscribed to the paper, and would call out the numbers for one of us to jump off the tailgate with a bunch of rolled papers in our arms and race up and down both sides of the street throwing the latest edition on what we hoped were the porches.

Why I remember Dizzy Dean, I’ll never know. But he was an institution during those delivery day adventures. He was originally from Arkansas, and his home spun language along with his knowledge of the game was worth listening to whenever we could.

As I got older, delivering papers didn’t hold the same allure it did at the age of 10. At 14 my desire to ride on the tailgate of the old station wagon just didn’t have the charm or the sense of excitement it once did.

I don’t believe any of us ever fell off the tailgate nor suffered bodily injuries taking a tumble.

In fact, today’s sporting events tail gate partiers have probably endured more falls and bumps than we ever experienced.

And sadly today’s tailgaters eat, drink, and seem merry as they wait on the game to begin, but they don’t have Dizzy Dean spinning colorful stories around his play by play chatter.

Too bad. They are missing the best part of tailgating.