Tuesday, December 23, 2014

The Pickup Truck

Before Thanksgiving I finally talked my dad into selling me  his '92 Chevrolet Silverado. He hadn't driven 50 miles in the last year or so. It was sitting in his driveway, the tires settling ever lower, sort of waiting to be taken out of retirement.

Dad and I spent  a day or so engaged in inverted haggling. I was wanting to pay more than he was wanting to sell it to me for. In fact, his first offer was to give it to me, but I thought there were too many kids/grandkids/great-grandkids who probably deserved or might want it. So we haggled and pushed and ended up right where my masters level conflict resolution certification said we would. The exact halfway point between my first offer and his first offer.

I checked the oil and coolant, made sure the tires were up, finalized the signals with my bride who would be flying escort in her Acadia, and set out to drive it from Abilene to Red Oak.
The first thing I noticed was that the steering wheel had a lot of play in it. By a lot I mean the thing was in a permanent quarter turn when the truck was traveling straight. Because of the play in the steering the truck tended to sort of wander all over the road. A gust of wind, a semi booming by, a bend in the highway and I found myself herding that truck from one side of the lane to the other. The brakes were a little squishy too, but I figured the truck would protect me if we couldn't avoid a collision.

As I took inventory of the accessories in the truck I found that it had an AM/FM radio, a huge hump in the floorboard which no clutter organizer would fit, and a cassette player. Well that is interesting, other than sermon tapes, I'm not sure I even own any cassette tapes. Eight tracks, yes, cassettes no. That entire fad came during my early family/kids years and I did not have money for that nonsense. Eight tracks were here to stay. And the over lying aspect of the interior of the truck was a thin pervasive coat of fine red dust. I was bringing part of the farm home with me.

We hurdled along at highway speeds with me testing all the knobs and buttons. The AC would work but if I put the fan on high, it sounded like the dashboard was being dismantled from the inside. The Freon was low so the air was not really cool. I did find out later that the heater doesn't work all that well either, but I have lots of coats and sweaters. After a pretty good upper body workout, we arrived home safe and sound and the farm truck sits proudly in my driveway. My plans are to fix it up as time and money permit. I am not in a big hurry. It is street legal after a couple of failed attempts at an inspection. New tie rods fixed most of the wandering around and there is a paint job in the future and some work on the interior. The old girl drives like a dream and I love the sound and feel when I tool around on weekends getting my errands done.

As I drive it around town and run errands  I wonder why it feels so good. I think it is because it reminds me of the man I admire most in this world, my dad. They are sort of alike, this old truck and my dad. They share a simplicity of life. There is not one single cup holder in the truck, no knobs or buttons that no one can figure out. You want the radio on, push the radio button. You want the heater on, push the button that says heater. Simple, strong, easy to be with. My dad is the same way. He does not demand or create a great deal of angst in those around him. His approach to life is quite simple, be nice, be kind, help out where you can, enjoy the world around you. He does not carry with him a lot of baggage that people have to deal with. Of course his memory now at 93 is a bit like the steering on the truck, it wanders a bit. And we have to remember that he is not going to understand or appreciate the newfangled junk in our lives. But he is strong in his faith in God and in his family. He is a joy to be around and I love to visit with him. Even though we spend a lot of time visiting about the same things over and over.

So the truck purchase was a sentimental one. OK, that's fine that I fall into that category. I have never promised that I had more than my share of logic. But this old truck, and my memories of my dad are sentimental possessions that I cherish. It is a part of who I am, and who I wish I was.

Godspeed to those who have something from someone who means so much to them. Sentimentality is worth every moment.
Don