I grew up in a Fina gas station owned by my granddaddy. My days smelled of petroleum and cigars,
No wonder I’m a little on edge all of my days. When the world is combustible with the errant flick of an ash,
Everything becomes precious to a precocious five year old. Grandaddy kept candy and red fuses in a glass counter display.
I had the run of the place, but was cautioned about dashing about and around the old pumps, lest someone
Run me over. Pretty heady stuff for a little girl who only wanted to ask, “Premium or Ethyl?” as she washed grimy windshields.
My heart is all tied up in that place. Bound by diligence and the smell of Grandaddy’s Old Spice. The strength of his hugs.
Praying for Eyebrowz 
This is tender and telling and I bet you were precocious. Lovely post.
Regards,
Dave Dipstick
Check The Oil, Okla.
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Oh! Thanks, Dipstick! My Grandaddy thought I was precious.
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Wonderfully evocative. Love the idea of you running out to ask. xxxxxxxxxxxxxx
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I was grandaddy’s shadow!
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It sounds like it. You capture that so well xxxx
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I think there are a lot more stories at the gas station.
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Could be!
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Most poignant
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Thank you.
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This is absolutely delightful. What great memories you have.
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Thanks!
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