A Story that has become Family Lore

I am sure every family has one story they tell whenever they get together.  Well, this is my story.  Every one of us kids was there to experience it and everyone of us has our own point-of-view to share within the story.  I wrote it down as a essay for school in 2001 and I have tried to keep a version of the story in my records.  Enjoy!

I Don't Like Jeeps

“Becky!  You better get down right…”, the words of my younger bossy brother were lost.  I literally was flying.  The problem?  I was flying out of a fast moving jeep.

            My father works as a paint foreman in Hollywood, Ca.  When I was around 8 years old, he accepted a job on location.  It was for the movie “Racing with the Moon” starring Sean Penn.  My dad was expected to go with the crew to Mendocino, Ca for about 6 weeks. There he would be a stand-by painter.

            My mother was happy for the money, but not with dad being gone so much, plus being alone with 4 kids doesn’t help.  There was me, Becky, the 8 year-old middle child and only girl.  The older twin boys Ben and Caldie, who were about 12 years old and my 5-year-old brother Charlie.  We kept mom busy.

            One day, mom put the 4 of us in our tiny Honda and started to drive.  I remember fighting over the front seat.  I always lost.  One of my favorite memories of that trip was a dense forest.  “Return of the Jedi” had just come out.  My brothers were convinced that we were standing in the exact spot a scene had been filmed.  Exact spot, no ifs, ands, or buts.  The exact spot.  Never did it occur to our child minds, that we could be wrong.  It turned out, my mother was taking us up the coast of California to visit dad on location.  We were so excited to stay in a hotel room, go on set, and to eat in restaurants for every meal.  Everything was new to me.  My 8-year-old senses were reeling.  I was having a terrific time.  Then it happened, mom woke up sick.  Not just feeling queasy, but ill.  We couldn’t turn on any lights or make any noise.  Dad thought it would be best to take the kids on an outing.

            We poured into a very old army jeep that dad had been given on loan from the crew.  I fought for the front seat.  Ahhhh, gypped again!  I decided to sit on the edge of the back seat and hang onto the crossbar overhead.  Off we went to conquer the local mountain.  Up, up, up, we trudged, occasionally I would look over and see the road give way to nothing.  A thrill of fear, terror and strangely, excitement would zing through me.  Here I was in the back of a vehicle that had no roof, climbing thousands of feet on a California mountainside.

 

This was the look of the jeep.  It was big and loud, but I remember that there was a roll bar between the front seats and the back.

            Finally the sun was starting to lower behind the treetops.  We started back to the hotel.  Here is where family lore takes over.  We began to follow the road down.  I was talking to my brothers, when Charlie noticed the jeep was gaining speed.  He began to tell me to get down on the floor, becoming more and more insistent.  Little did I know that the antique’s brakes had given out with the constant use.  Dad was controlling the speed of the jeep through downshifting. 

Three events came together at precisely the same time.  We were going about 30 mph when we came to a sharp curve in the road.  Charlie huddling in the corner of the jeep decided to tell me at that precise moment to do the same.  Incensed at my younger brother telling me what to do, I released my grip on the jeep’s crossbar to put my hands on my hips, planning to tell Charlie off, when it happened.  The speed, curve and my release of the bar sent me flying.  I was flung out of my seat like a rock from a slingshot.  Thankfully, I flipped and landed on the cushiest part of my body, my butt.  I began to scream.  Not because of my recent trauma, but because of my new view.  Absolute horror filled my soul when I saw that the Jeep was not stopping.  I watched the back of that old rust bucket disappeared from my view with my family inside.  I honestly believed they didn’t know I was gone!  I found out later that my first thought was correct.  They didn’t know I was gone.  A couple camping on an embankment heard my screams and rushed to comfort me.  I remember thinking, “They don’t look so bad.  I guess I will be going home with them.”  I was resigned to the fact my family wouldn’t be able to find me.  The couple had no idea what to do.  The three of us sat in the dirt on the side of the road, an old man patting the back of a screaming 8 year old.

            Meanwhile back in the jeep my brothers went quiet.  Nobody wanted to tell dad I flew out.  “Where’s Becky?” was asked.  Charlie broke down, “I told her to get down.  I told her she would fall out.”  Dad couldn’t stop.  No brakes.  He had to come to the base of the mountain before he could stop and turn around.  When Dad did gain control of the jeep, distraught Caldie pleaded, “No. No, don’t go back.”  He didn’t want to see what was left of me splat on the pavement.

            Eventually I saw dad appear from around the curve of the mountainside.  Relief flooded through me.  Embarrassed, dad jumped out of the jeep.  Together, we realized I had escaped major injury.  I only suffered a twisted ankle, plus some cuts and scratches on my back.  Dad picked me up, cradled me in his arms and at last I got into the front seat.  It was the only one with a seat belt, which was securely fastened around me.

            This event in the family has become one of lore.  To this day Charlie has to say,” I told you so!”  It will be told at every reunion and every family get together.  It will be passed to nieces and nephews, sons and daughters.  Many who hear the story are not surprised to when I say, ”I don’t like Jeeps.”