An Old Truck (the beginning)
My childhood fantasy world.
Laney isn’t your typical 10 year old American girl. She’s rough and rugged and would rather be fixing up old trucks with her dad and playing in the woods with her dog than playing dress up, or whatever it is that 10 year old girls did in the 90s.
In my real life, in elementary school, I loved old trucks. I don’t know what about them was so magnetizing for me, especially at such a young age, just that I had dreamed of fixing one up with my made-up dad one day. To this day, I love old trucks.
This story is unfinished. You’re about to read the first part.
P.S. Read to the end for a photo of me that captures a bit of my childhood essence.
An Old Truck (the beginning)
She reaches under the dash and pulls the lever, hard. With a loud click and release from the lever and the loud thunk from the front of the truck, she knows the hood’s open. The gravel under her feet crinkles as her feet take her around to the front, to inspect. The oil stain on the driveway was a sign there’s a leak. Which is no surprise given the truck’s age.
She’s used to tools now and knows quite a bit about what to look for when diagnosing a problem. So it’s also no surprise that she grabs the correct screwdriver and places its tip on the correct hose clamp and turns it the correct way and the leak stops.
The stained red rag showed signs of much use, but was technically clean until she wiped up the oil off the hose and as much as she could from the gravel, before grabbing another clean and well stained red rag to wipe off her hands that were now oil stained themselves. After returning the screwdriver to its home and tossing the rags into the pile in the garage near the washer, she continues inside to scrub her hands clean and change. She’d been working on that truck for a few hours already that day, like most other Sundays. That was their day to work on the truck, and those days were her favorite.
- - -
It was the most beautiful blue she’d ever seen and as the corners of her mouth crept increasingly close to the corners of her eyes, her dad knew she loved it. A 1970 Chevrolet K/5 Blazer. He’d found it in the classifieds and surprised her one Sunday afternoon a couple years ago.
He'd thought it odd that his 8 year old daughter could be so entranced by an old truck. It was most of what she’d talk about when she wasn’t playing with their dog or writing stories or playing with her friends. When they drove past one in town she’d ooh and ahh and pretend they were driving down a dirt road to some unknown fantasy nature playground. He remembers her telling fantastical stories about the places they could explore and creatures they’d discover on their long adventure drives into who-knows-where. And of course, those adventures always included her favorite creature, their adorable, goofy, smart, cuddly, playful pup, Fin. His head bouncing up and down in between the two front seats as his tail wagged ferociously and they headed down the long, bumpy dirt roads.
He’d spent the next year and a half keeping an eye on the local ads, waiting for the perfect old truck. Her 10th birthday had arrived on a Wednesday, and by the following Sunday he was out running a mysterious errand. “I’ll be back in a couple of hours, Laney,” he’d told her as he hopped in the passenger seat of his buddy’s truck. He usually tells her where he’s going and she noticed that he didn’t this time, but didn’t overthink it. She had plenty of new games to play she’d gotten for her birthday and all she wanted was to play outside with Fin anyways. They were in the backyard when she hears a grumble that sounds like a loud truck and before she knows it Fin is barking at the fence towards the driveway. She bounds over to the fence, confused and excited. And all she can see is blue and everything else leaves her mind.
It’s not all blue, though. There’s an expertly placed thick white stripe along the sides and it has big black tires that feel like they’re almost towering over her 10 year old body, and a bunch of shiny silvery parts on the front, back and sides. For being 27 years old, this old truck didn’t look too shabby at all. Sure, there were some spots of chipping paint and small dents here and there. To her those were the scars of all of its adventures and she couldn’t wait to hear the stories that old truck would tell her. And, she’d realized, all of the stories they would make together.
That was two years ago. It’s been two years worth of Sunday afternoons working on the truck with dad. It’s been two years worth of learning how to change the oil, what tools do which thing, how to know when you need to rotate the tires, figuring out what part needs to be fixed or replaced next. Two years of oil stained hands and she loves every second of it.
Some of the kids at school think she’s weird, and she doesn’t mind because she knows she’s weird and what is normal anyway? When you show up at school with eternally stained black hands and grease lodged under your fingernails and your 6th grade teacher gives you 5 minutes to tell your neighbors what you did that weekend and words like “ratcheting wrench” and “impact drill” come out of your mouth, it’s no wonder she was usually misunderstood. That’s okay, she thinks to herself, because she doesn’t understand those other kids, either. It’s a mutual feeling. And she also knows it’s ok because she has friends who don’t think she’s weird. And she has her dad, and their dog and their old truck. To Laney, life is magical and there’s nothing else she needs.
And so, every Sunday Laney and her dad work on that old truck while Fin sniffs the bushes in the front yard. Every so often, she feels the bump of a wet nose on her arm or her face, almost always followed by a long wet kiss before he bounces off to chase and bark at a squirrel in one of the trees that create the canopy of shade keeping them cool. It’s their ritual, their tradition.
While the truck was in pretty good shape for its age, it was still a 27 year old mechanical beast that needed lots of TLC before they could embark on longer adventures down all those dirt roads she’d been dreaming up. That’s what he’d told her on that very first Sunday afternoon before he told her to hop up and climb in the passenger seat, followed by a command to invite Fin to join them.
Absolute glee had filled her to the brim. He’d offered to help her up, but she was already climbing inside with the biggest smile he’d ever seen across her sweet, young face. The energy built up inside of her was bubbling out as squeals and bounces and taps on her dad’s shoulder as the tires rolled over the gravel and the rear view mirror now only held the vision of their house in the background.
He’d already planned which road would be their first old truck trek, knowing that simply pulling it into the driveway couldn’t be the only gift he gave her that day. Soon enough, the gravel that had turned to pavement was now turning to dirt and the dust kicked up all around them as he pressed just a little harder with his right foot. She’d already grabbed the handle on the door and wound it as quickly as she could to let the wind blow her hair and smell the fresh scent of nature from her new favorite seat. Dad followed suit.
In the side view mirror on the outside of her door she could see the wind flapping Fin’s lips all around and the fur on his back go wild and his tail wagging as ferociously as she’d dreamt. And she was utterly joy filled.
The bouncing was part of the fun and that first dirt road did not disappoint, and she looked to her left and smiled at her dad and he smiled back and the world was as it should be.
They’d climbed up the side of a rather large, steep dirt hill, letting the tires and 4 wheel drive slowly and surely carry them over the rocks and through the potholes until their view became horizontal again. She never doubted that old truck could take them there and now she had proof. He was impressed and only slightly surprised there were no loud, unwelcomed clunks and just gave a wry smile out of the side of his mouth as he guided the gear shifter into park.
She opened the door, jumped down and Fin was already through her legs as they’d made their way to the cliff’s edge on foot. Almost dusk brought to life the sounds of creatures preparing for the evening as the golden light filtered past them through the windshield and made the blue seats look brown. She’d glanced back at the truck for a moment, reminding herself this is all real so she didn’t have to pinch herself. Then she returned her gaze to the beauty below them, in front of them. That truck, and her dad, of course, had taken them there. Blue had already been turning to oranges and pinks, and somehow the oranges and pinks got brighter and bolder just before the expanse started turning dark and her tummy rumbled.
They’d waited for a bit, enjoying what nature does when the sun sets, before climbing back up into her new favorite seat, just as elated for the ride home as she was for the ride to wherever it was they were. Because the ride home meant another ride in her truck. Their truck. It meant a long, bumpy dirt road in front of them lit only by the two headlights attached to their truck. It meant the exploration of new terrain in the dark which really just meant excitement for the unknown. It was the adventure of the unknown of the world, of nature, Laney was usually drawn to. This first Sunday trek in her new truck sitting in her new favorite seat stirred up all of her deeply rooted curiosity and craving for exploration. This was exactly Laney’s type of fun.
And so was fixing up this truck, which was approximately fifty-percent of her longing for it in the first place. The other approximately fifty-percent was in the process of fixing it, learning about how to fix it, and ultimately, doing all of it with her dad. To have an excuse to work on a project together. A really long project.
You see, Laney’s dad is one of those dads the other dads envy. One of those dads the other kids see and wish was their dad. He is the absolute greatest dad to have ever existed in Laney’s mind, and quite frankly, she wasn’t far from the truth. He knows what she needs when she’s sad and always has the right thing to say and always holds her for just long enough. He challenges her to learn new things while encouraging her and supporting her, but never “doing it for her.” He instills a sense of confidence and self love in her that’s priceless. He somehow manages to balance keeping her accountable, letting her make mistakes, pushing her to grow and want to learn, challenging her perspectives, validating her feelings, comforting her when she needs it, always, always showing her he loves her, so she grows up a healthy, successful, happy human. At least that's what he hopes. Because he’s doing the best he can, and he can see that she’s growing into quite the fabulous young lady. Oil stained fingernails and all.
He likes that she’s not too girly, yet still feminine. She’s strong and confident and eager to learn. She likes getting her hands dirty. And she likes walking barefoot in her flowy, colorful summer dresses through the backyard searching for bugs and cool rocks, her long golden brown hair, parted in the middle, wild and free just like she is.
On their Sundays, though, it's her coveralls she wears proudly over an oil stained t-shirt and dirty Van’s tennis shoes, her hair in a messy ponytail. Her uniform, she calls it, and he laughs every time.
She likes to get out there before he does and put her favorite tools in her pockets. 10 millimeter ratcheting wrench in her right side hip pocket. The Phillips head screwdriver with the bent, worn red handle into the long, narrow chest pocket, next to the big square chest pocket where she clips in the black flashlight that fits perfectly in her right hand. Then she walks over to the truck as the gravel announces his exit from the garage, work gloves hanging out of her left side hip pocket.
“I’m ready,” she says matter-of-factly. She takes Sundays very seriously.
She knows they don’t always need her favorite tools, but she feels good wearing them. It just feels right, she knows.
They hadn’t been able to take the truck out lately because one of the parts they needed to replace wasn’t available yet from the manufacturer and her dad didn’t want to stress the truck while they waited. So, most of their Sundays had been taking advantage of the down time by fixing and replacing a bunch of other parts that would have needed that TLC anyways. And Laney was counting down the days until they could cash in all of their hard work and live out the pact they’d made. Their big trip. Their big trip in their old truck.
Shorts got you hooked? Read more right here!
MEET ME IN THE COMMENTS!
What fantasy worlds did you create in your mind as a kid? Or, did anything about this story surprise you? Are there any ways that you can you relate?
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love it. nice YJ Wrangler in the pic as well ;-)