A Man and His Machine

truckFrom the time my son barely learned to walk and talk, he noticed every time a big truck drove past our house and he’d run to the window to watch it go by and yell, “Vroom, vroom!”

I didn’t teach him to do it.
His sisters didn’t teach him to do it.
Not even his dad taught him to do it.

None of us even noticed the sound of trucks going by before the man-child’s instinctive truck consciousness engaged. Fodder for the nature vs. nurture argument. All I know is there is something about guys and trucks.

For years I would ask my husband what he wanted for Christmas/Fathers Day/birthdays and he would always answer, “A truck.” I would remind him it wasn’t in the budget at the time and he would say, “Then nothing. I’m good.”

He didn’t mean to be greedy or ungrateful in any way. So long as he had food, shelter, clothing and love there really wasn’t anything else he needed to be truly happy, except a truck.

That would complete him.

Then came the magical day we were able to get a truck. There were only five other times I’d seen my sweetie so happy: our wedding day, the births of our three children, and the day my sister moved out after living with us for four months.

The truck was old and used but still in decent shape—and it was beautiful to him.

Oh, the things he could haul with it! The powerful sounds it made when it started up! The little boys he drew to the window as he drove past their houses, hearing their yells of masculine solidarity, “Vroom, vroom!”

Yeah, I don’t get it.

But, it is handy to have a truck. I can throw my bike in the back to take wherever I want, or fill it up after a deep de-junking of my kids’ rooms and haul it all away in one trip before anyone is the wiser. And there are acquaintances and relatives we would never even hear from if they didn’t need help moving stuff.

For twelve years now we’ve been happy truck owners. But the only thing a guy likes better than having a truck, is having a new truck. They’re always getting bigger, faster and fancier, right?

“They’re so much more fuel efficient than they used to be,” he says, “Just think of the money we’d save on gas.”

Buying a new truck saves money like squeezing into smaller size jeans makes me look thinner. But I’m a sucker for fairy tales, so for Christmas—and every other qualified gift-receiving occasion in his near and distant future—my man got a new truck. Well, a new-er truck anyway.

And my sweetie is the sixth happiest I’ve ever seen him.

It’s kinda eerie how happy the new truck makes him. In fact, he had a recent business trip in Arizona and usually he would fly down, but he decided to drive his new truck. And he invited me to go with him, and on the way home it was his idea to stop in Vegas and catch a show—with singing and dancing in it. They’re my favorite, he knows.

I love our new truck.

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