I voted the best I could. Now I don't want to see another political ad, campaign flyer or a phone call in the middle of dinner.

This is a result of a rather animated 'discussion' in my house last night. Not politics, this tidbit. No way I'm getting rid of my truck!
I need a gripe forum, guess what? You guys get stuck with it.

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©Richard Eslick

It doesn’t look like much now, scarred and dinged, rusty spots telling you its age. Dad bought it new in ‘81, 1982 model Ford F-150. He was proud of it, his first new vehicle, the only one he ever bought. 15 years later, he left it to me in his will. Five years after that, I still have it, 234,000 miles, tons of stuff hauled from here to yonder. Miles on asphalt, concrete, gravel and dirt, back roads and Interstates. Didn’t make the old truck much difference, it plugged along regardless, doing the work asked of it without much complaint or asking for special treatment.

Over time it has hauled everything you can imagine, furniture, kitchen appliances, TVs, animal feed, the animals themselves, groceries, all the stuff teenagers bring to church camp, the teens themselves on a hay-ride, with a chaperone, mothers in labor to the hospital, new mothers with newborns home. In times past the 8 foot bed was filled with hay, wood, camping gear, fishing tackle, trash and treasure, plywood, lumber, plumbing supplies, tools, hunting gear, aluminum boats, canoes and stuff I've forgotten. It moved dozens of households from where they were to where they wanted to be. Its gone fishing, hunting, touring, camping, to powows, garage sales, flea markets and to the dump to dispose of the excess from all those trips.

Now it sits in my driveway, like me it’s a little cranky in the morning, here and there scars from work and play, its been known to make rude noises in front of company. It’s a little tired and a little old, the chrome doesn’t shine very good anymore, the lights are a little dim, steering a bit loose and it can make a few strange noises when working hard. We are a lot alike that beat up old truck and I.

The wife tells me I need to trade it in, get a newer one a little more shiny, better gas milage, more comfortable. One that the seats aren’t torn up, floor-mats are not so ragged, FM radio, and air conditioning that works all the time.

I can’t tell her it still carries one load it will never lose, I can walk out there and look in the bed and see it all. I can sit in the drivers seat and recall taking my dad to the hospital when he had his first heart attack. And taking him to the hospital for the last time. That old truck carries a load that doesn’t weigh much, but is more valuable than all the money you could pile in the bed.

It carries 21 years of memories.