A day in the life of a junkie
Remember the television sitcom “Sanford and Son”? It was that very show that fueled my interest in being a junkie and awakened a truth within my soul that would surface many years later.
Sanford and Son starred Redd Foxx as Fred G. Sanford, a 65-year-old junk dealer living at 9114 S. Central Ave. in the Watts neighborhood of southern Los Angeles, Calif., and Demond Wilson as his 28-year-old son, Lamont Sanford. Sanford was a sarcastic, stubborn and argumentative antique and junk dealer, whose frequent money-making schemes routinely backfired and created more troubles.
I enjoyed the hilarious antics created by the show’s characters, but it was all the “good junk” Fred and his son had piled up in the yard and all through their house that intrigued me the most.
I am not sure when the fever actually hit me, then again I have come to believe I was born with the love for “junking” and that trait was directly inherited from my daddy and his people.
Daddy has always had several jobs at one time, one of which included making extra money from scrap metal that he would load up and deliver to a junk yard.
One time when my little sister, April, and I were several years younger, we had this idea that we would paint “Sanford and Son” on the door of Daddy’s old tan pickup truck but changed our minds after thinking about the trouble we would get in if we pulled such a stunt.
Truth of the matter is year’s later I would come to realize how much I love junking and would proudly drive that old truck around, only it would have Sanfreda and Girls painted on the side of each door.
Writing has been my real job for these past few years, and I have thoroughly enjoyed it. But as each day goes by, those old thoughts of when I owned a secondhand business keep haunting me.
At this very moment my car is loaded down with “stuff” I have dragged home from the yard sale we had over the weekend.
The whole idea of having a yard sale in the first place is to get rid of things you don’t want, but oh no, not me, I have a totally different mindset.
The common sense side of my brain tells me to purge, purge, purge, the addiction side fights back with Kym you better grab that old kettle up someone may need it one day.
My common sense don’t have a loud enough voice and cannot over rule my pack-rat addiction.