I've got a few tailgate memories here and there

The first pickup truck I bought didn’t have a tailgate latch mechanism. You just closed the tailgate and hooked the end of the chain on the hasp to keep it closed on each side.

As you drove, the chains rattled and rubbed the paint off but it worked, which is more than I can say for some of the tailgate mechanisms I’ve had since then. It was a simple and beautiful solution, back in the days before the term tailgating came into our lexicon.

Oh, we used that tailgate in much the same way, it just wasn’t as elaborate as a grilling party in a stadium parking lot before a football game. It was a little more country than that.

We ate on the pickup tailgate when Mom brought dinner to the field at noon. It gave you a chance to get your tired feet off the hot ground and swing them to get the blood circulating in your feet and legs.

It gave you a flat place to set your Dr Pepper down and you didn’t have to worry about the red ants crawling up your breeches.

When I got older we used the tailgate in a different sort of way — park at the local drive-in with the tailgate facing the main drag, get a tall soft drink and sit there sipping it from the tailgate as you watch the world go by.

These days pickups are insanely tricked out and cost more than my first house (some more than my second house even). Their tailgates are getting tricked out too. Trucks are so tall these days, getting into the back is a bit tricky so they’re making them with steps to get onto or over the tailgate.

I’ve got to admit a guy of my brief stature could have used a step. I wasn’t always the picture of grace getting my butt up on a tailgate, especially a high one.

We regularly rode on the tailgate too — sometimes for work-related reasons like feeding or throwing a paper route and sometimes just because we were stupid. Bailing off early to see who could stay on their feet was an interesting game but going across a ditch, border or other such bump was not much fun.

If we weren’t riding there we were up sitting on the side of the bed. We weren’t supposed to ride like that, according to my mother, but somehow the good Lord watched over us. Even the time my little brother went flying out of the back one day, literally head-over-heels.

I’ve been to what was referred to as a tailgate party in recent years but things weren’t quite right. There was lots of party but no tailgate in sight.

Go team!

Karl Terry writes for Clovis Media Inc. Contact him at:

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