I grew up in Elkhart, Indiana, the mobile home capital of the world.  Is that something to be proud of?  The city was also the band instrument manufacturing capital and the home of Alka-Seltzer.  Is that better?  It was also home for me and always will be.  I don’t get back there very often any more, but I still have family in the area.  It was a unique manufacturing area, with a sharp division between the very rich and the very poor.  My family was neither, but I got a little taste both wealthy and middle-to-lower class lifestyles.  The upper class lived on the rivers and lakes, while the middle class settled in sprawling neighborhoods.  The lower class lived in trailers that evolved into mobile homes and eventually into manufactured housing.

Most everyone who grew up there had some connection to the mobile home industry, but nobody wanted to live in one.  If you did, you were probably the brunt of cruel jokes and maybe even called “trailer trash.”  If you owned a Recreational Vehicle (RV), then that vaulted you into a slightly higher class because it was typically parked in your driveway or yard, meaning you also owned a home.  However, there were so many different models of RVs, from small campers to luxury motor homes, that status was a relative measure.  The wealthy, for example, never parked their luxury motor homes anywhere near their home or even their second home, knowing that the neighbors would object.  In some of the middle class neighborhoods the RV parked in the driveway was actually bigger than the home.  It was also many times parked next to a boat and multiple cars because the garage was full of motorcycles, snow mobiles, and other toys.

My parents did not own an RV or have any “junk” cluttered around the yard that might interfere with the sprinkling system.  But, as we all know, “one man’s junk is another man’s treasure.”  My grandparents, for example, owned both a house and two mobile homes throughout their retirement years.  One mobile home was by a lake in lower Michigan and the other, a double-wide, was on a bay near the Florida Gulf.  Their home was nothing more than a pit stop on their seasonal journeys back and forth.  I’m sure they perceived themselves as very rich!

I will always remember that in Florida, there was a double-wide sitting directly on the Bay with a beautiful sunset view.   The small lawn around it was immaculate and the flowers and landscaping unmatched by anyone else in the park housing mostly retirees.  The couple that lived in it was well liked in the neighborhood, and played with me as if I was their own grand child.   I always wanted to live in a special place like theirs.

I spent many a weekend and vacation in these mobile homes.  It was a lesson of survival in a cramped space, even inside the double-wide.  Fortunately, they were located no where near where my friends could make fun of me.  Plus, the friends I made on these family getaways also lived in mobile homes, so status was determined a relative manner. Who had the nicest trailer in the park?  I found it to be a microcosm of life in general, and taught me that status symbols are measured strictly through the eyes of the beholder.  Try to make fun of that!

Considering my roots in trailer country, I’ve heard all the pros and cons of owning one.  There are nice ones that the owners take great pride in and maintain accordingly, but there are also the eyesores.  Here’s my humorous take on the dark side of mobile home living:

The Nicest Trailer in the Park

I own the nicest trailer,
In the whole damn Park.
Though it looks better,
After it gets dark.
.
Cause then you can’t see,
All the rust and dents.
But a newer model,
Just makes no sense.
.
There’s an elderly couple,
That lives down the way.
The own the lot,
That sits on the Bay.
.
Nice landscaping,
A new double-wide.
But unlike mine,
No bar inside.
.
A big satellite dish,
Doesn’t sit in their yard.
And they don’t have,
A junk yard dog.
.
No car on blocks,
No stray cat.
No bird droppings,
On the welcome mat.
.
These are the things,
That make it mine.
Home Sweet Home,
As it says on the sign.
.
It keeps the rain out,
Though the roof may sag,
The frig keeps the beer cold,
And the carpet’s shag.
.
The floor’s not level,
Cause one tire’s flat.
And underneath,
Lives a big old rat.

.

The lock is broken,
And my neighbor is a jerk.
Gray tape fixed one,
And the other doesn’t work.
.
The bugs can’t get out,
I’ve patched the screens.
As you can see,
I live over my means.
.
It’s a prime lot,
With the best view.
She’s a sight to see,
But a mother of two.
.
Indoor plumbing.
Is one of my goals.
Right after I repair,
Those bullet holes.
.
The maid hasn’t been here,
Since I can remember.
The lights are still up,
But it’s not December.
.
It’s paid for you know,
Though the propane is low.
And when I want to move,
I’ll just get a tow.
.
There are curtains to hang.
And bed bugs to kill.
For the lucky person,
Who’s in my will.
.
So bill collectors,
Don’t come a knockin’.
Especially when,
My trailer’s rockin’

.

Copyright 2011 johnstonwrites.com