It was the summer of 1992 and Megadeth had just released Symphony of Destruction, and Dick Dale was the hottest racer on the late modified scene in South Carolina. My older brother and I were crammed into the backseat inside a fort of coolers, duffle bags, and Dick Dale paraphernalia. I could hear the tinny high rasp of cymbals distorting through my brothers headphones. It made for a weird sensation as the beat of Megadeth and Bob Segar came together for breif moments. I caught a cigarette ash in the face and my mother looked back, with one of those "oh shit" giggles on her face
"Oh honey are you alright? You know I always say better to keep the window up or else somethin like this gon happen."
"Now now don't coddle the boy honey." My dad said with an uncharacteristically happy voice. We'd been on the road for just over an hour and the clock had struck 11am. I did my best to wash the ash out of my eye as my dad reached into the cooler he'd replaced the center console with and pulled out a Bud Light. "You gotta let kids get into trouble and fend for themselves from time to time." "Aint that right Jr? Remember that time with that pack of wild racoons? We showed mother nature who's the real boss that day didn't we boy? HOOHAH EAT IT MOTHA NATURE!"
The pop of an aluminum can rung out through the cigarette and lynard skynard congested interior; but not one of those new aluminum cans with the "mega" mouth, no this was a thick 100% USA made aluminum can you could convert into an engine block if you really wanted, back when things were quality. I could feel my dad go rock hard as the engine of our Chevy Blazer hummed along 100rpm faster.
I could hear the sound of my brothers copy of Symphony of Destruction rewinding. I envied him and his ability to just tune the world out.
Several hours and hopelessly lost in the uncharted, unmapped, unknown and forgotten backwoods later, and our parents were arguing. At this point I wasn't sure if I would ever get Dick Dale to autograph my first edition Dick Dale nylon mesh baseball cap my mother managed to cooerce my drunken father into buying for me back at Chattawannakanooga back home when he was just a rookie.
"Hang onto that now boy, it could be worth a fortune some day"
I held my hat with pride and added just the right curve to the brim, being careful not to bend it so significantly that it couldn't be bent back and passed off as never actually having been bent. What I didn't hear was my father under his breath as he mosied his way on over to the beer stand after catching my mother zoning out and day dreaming, probably about black dick if I had learned anything about their near daily arguments.
"Fortune my fuckin ass. Have kids they said, you'll love bein a father they said. Little brats eatin me out my own home"
