Friday, January 7, 2011
That Old Truck
I suppose it is like a work of art. The painter or sculptor puts a lot into their work. My dad replaced the motor and transmission three times. The body is probably the only thing that is original on the truck. It has over half million miles on the odometer, but it will still start.
I can remember riding to the dump hundreds of time. I always joke, that if I were on the way to the dump, I could let go of the steering wheel and the truck would find it own way to the dump. Can a vehicle have a soul? If it were true this old truck would have such stories to tell.
It could tell you about the first time that it pulled me out of the ditch, or the fourth. It could tell of all the times my dad put his shoes on and went out into the night and pulled someone out of a jam. That truck could also tell you about the trips across the country it took to tow someone home.
Some people would even come out and have coffee with my father on there morning rounds. Some would bring wood with there tractor and we would have a campfire. Those were the good old days. The times we sat around the campfires tell each other a story. My dad crab walking on two legs with his hands above his head, moving around the fire, jumping on his kids tickling them until they couldn’t stand it.
I am sure gas would be a factor. When I was last at the gas station it was three times as much.
I am sure I would have trouble finding a free camping spot. This isn’t the 70’s and people don’t trust one another.
I am sure time would be a factor. I work a forty hour job. I don’t work I don’t get paid.
I can already see that it would be hard to recreate the past. Even if all the players were alive and I set the stage just right, it wouldn’t be the same. I believe that is it okay to dream about it, looking out sipping on a cup of Joe, admiring that old rusty truck.