Last week my brother called and told me they stole my dad’s truck out of the hotel parking lot he was staying at. Apparently, they brought in a tow truck because the alarms did not go off in the truck or on my brother’s phone. You would think they would take the Camaro, Cadillac or Corvette parked there, but they took the truck.
My brother has owned the truck for over ten years, so it is not new. Even though my brother owned the truck, it will always be Dad’s. We called it Dad’s on a regular basis. When he told me, I was just heart sick. It is a truck. What am I so upset about? It is a material object and can be replaced. Yes, it can, but not the memories that go with the truck.
When I was talking to a friend tonight, we discussed the truck. My brother sent me a song idea, and I made the call to a songwriter friend. We talked about the truck and all the memories that go with the truck. I remember dad having Minneapolis Moline parts in the back of the truck for one reason or another. He had a farm truck, and he had the blue Dodge he used to take on vacation or tractor hunting expeditions. Dad would head out west, driving down back roads looking for old tractors. He would find an old tractor sitting three feet deep in weeds and would talk to the farmer about buying it. Dad would then bring the tractor back to Ohio and would start the remodel on it. I can still picture the truck sitting in the driveway with the trailer behind it. An old tractor sitting there waiting to be put in the workshop to start a new life.
The blue Dodge was also the truck Dad would use when he was building the cabin at the pond. I remember many days pulling up to the pond and seeing the truck sitting outside the cabin. What we didn’t know at the time was Dad had cancer, and he was determined to finish that cabin. Ever since he moved back from Colorado, he talked about building a pond and a cabin was in the conversation when the pond was dug. Many days I would go back to the pond and his truck would be there, and he would be sleeping on the couch or sitting on the front porch enjoying the view.
If you talk to any farmer or person who has owned a truck, they will tell you stories about their favorite trucks. I remember the first truck I owned was an old Chevy truck, stick shift. The bed of the truck was wood, and it had a few rust holes in the body. I was just married, and it was my first truck. There were holes in the floor board when I bought a new truck, but it had served its time, and it went on to someone else to drive. I remember hearing the story of Billy Currington and how he had kept his dad’s truck. How much the Chevy truck means to him.
Memories fade, but when you own something that keeps the memories alive you tend to hang on to that item. I have my Dad’s office chair, and I can’t image any other chair being behind my desk. Dad’s truck is out there somewhere, and maybe one day we will get it back, but we are not convinced that will ever happen. They targeted that truck and they had someone who wanted it so it is long gone.
Comment made: “Bastard took my truck. I miss my truck!” Great title for a song and video lol