Little red wagon

 The old truck sat, covered in branches and leaves, behind the barn owned by my grandpa. In its day, it was a delivery truck and even had wooden spoke wheels, which gives you an idea of how old it was. Over time, with several owners, the truck had been used for various purposes: as a delivery vehicle hauling goods around town, as a fruit and vegetable truck making stops for customers, and even as a plumber's truck. It had been painted more than a few times, and the years had taken their toll on it.

My grandpa acquired the truck through a trade, giving a week's worth of work to the previous owner, who needed help getting his tractor up and running. Grandpa had a wanderlust and a passion for the carnival life, and he told me his plan to transform the old, worn-out truck into what we now know as a food truck. For months, he worked on it with my help after school and on weekends. We traveled to auctions looking for equipment like cotton candy machines, a grill for cooking, and a popcorn machine. We found a small fridge to keep the meats cold and a bun warmer for hot dogs and burgers. The deep fryer we wanted was too expensive, so with a bit of ingenuity, we created our version using a steel drum cut in half and a propane flame source. It worked great for fries and even deep-fried donuts.

Once the inside was nearing completion, we tackled the outside. It took hours to scrape through layers of rust and various colors until it was finally ready for paint. We chose a bright red that could be seen for miles. We brought the wooden wheels back to life with linseed oil and elbow grease, and when we finished, they looked as good as new.

I suggested it needed a name, and I came up with "Little Red Wagon." Grandpa loved the name and had signs made for both sides, and he even printed food wrappers with the logo and name. It was a beautiful truck that drew attention wherever it went.

With summer carnivals coming out of hibernation, Grandpa suggested we join one to see how things went. After some persuasion, my parents agreed to let me go and help out. I’ll never forget pulling up to a carnival and parking in front of the owner's trailer. A large man, smoking a cigar, came outside, smiling as he looked over the truck. He said we were more than welcome to travel the circuit with them for the small fee of fifteen percent of our daily earnings. Grandpa managed to negotiate it down to ten percent, and a deal was struck.

Our first day was a mix of chaos and fixing broken machines, but by the end of it, we had improved in every area, and our little red wagon was a huge success. Grandpa continued to travel with the carnivals, taking him across many states, and I often joined him during my summer breaks. However, I was soon accepted at the state college, and he had to hire someone else to help out. I received postcards from everywhere he traveled, but soon they stopped coming. I learned from my parents that Grandpa had passed away peacefully in his sleep. He left me the little red wagon in his will, which I parked in my backyard as a reminder of the work we did together and the countless hours of fun we shared, turning nothing into something and fulfilling Grandpa's dream of traveling with the carnivals. Who knows? Maybe some of his spirit rubbed off on me, and I’ll put the little red wagon back on the trails of the carnival life.

Mike, 2025