Here’s a story.
Back when my daughter Cammie was 10, through a series of events that defy description, she ended up playing the leading role of Mary Lennox in the Broadway musical, “The Secret Garden,” at the St. James Theater. The kid was good, real good. The cast adored and respected both her singing and natural acting abilities.
One Sunday early I got a frantic call saying they needed Cammie to do the afternoon matinee. I was the only one home, in posession of nothing but the farm truck, which was half full of hay and had only a few working gears, but off we went on the four-hour race, pulling up to the St. James (cast members enter right next to the box office), and out jumped Cammie to run inside for make-up. A dozen kids screamed, “There she is! That’s Mary Lennox!” Another spoke up and announced, “Nooo. Mary Lennox would never arrive in that,” she said, pointing at my truck.
Farmers have such a bad rep. I liked my truck.