In the next week or so I'll be saying good-bye to the S-10, which has been an Oglesbee family workhorse for 20 years. For me, the S-10 is more than just a truck...it is one of the last physical objects I have that is directly connected to growing up. I don't see a rusting, moderately dangerous, underpowered compact truck, I see my dad picking me up from elementary school in order to take me to piano lessons. On those days, he usually had a small thermos of milk and a couple of mom's chocolate chip cookies ready and waiting for me. We would listen to NPR on the AM radio that came with the truck. I distinctly remember listening to some sportscasters discussing the new football term that had been coined for the region between the goal line and the 20 yard line (i.e. "red zone").I also think of how dad would hitch the boat to the truck, and as a family we would head over to lake Waubee and go sailing (Rob and I would ride in back). Later on, when Rob got his license, I remember the contract he had to sign with dad in order to use the truck. Rob succeeded in filling every bit of cubic of the cab with a speaker or amplifier. Given what I've learned in my Ph.D. minor, I'm shocked that neither of us show any signs of hearing loss. I have to say that one of the bass tapes (yes that's right, tapes) Rob used to play always made me feel like I had to poo.
Later, when it became my turn to learn to drive the truck (it's a manual), the one memory that stands out is killing the engine roughly 6 times in rapid succession on a county road at a stop sign. Dad just sat calmly in the seat next to me, waiting for me to figure out what the problem was. Eventually, I got the truck moving, and when I went to make the shift into 2nd, I discovered what my problem had been. I had been trying to start the truck in 3rd gear (it was a 4-speed transmission), and had succeeded...the burnt clutch smell testified to my persistence. Although the truck only has 83,000 miles on it, I believe it has gone through 3 clutches.
Some of my favorite memories are from college, when Lisa would sit in the middle of the bench seat and fall asleep when we would be driving back from Nappanee or Ft. Wayne. One of the worst things that ever happened to couples was the mass adoption of bucket seats.
Some might think that it is silly of me to be so attached to a physical thing, especially something which is likely to give you tetanus if you're not careful while washing it. However, more than being a vehicle, the truck is a symbol. Among other things, it is a symbol of fun family times, growing up, and helping others. Symbols are important. Symbols help define us. The Christian faith is jam packed with physical items that serve as powerful symbols (i.e. the Elements in Communion). It's okay to treasure the symbols, as long as we don't let that stand in the way of letting them go when the time is right. For me, that time has come.
Although it is hard to let the truck go, I'm happy to say that she is not headed to a scrap heap (for now). The S-10 is being fixed up and is going to a guy from our church who is just a little bit older than me. He has had a difficult life, and has spent the last year in a program at a local rescue mission that has helped him turn his life around. He owns virtually nothing, and some people from our church are helping me to fix up the truck to give to him. People are donating money to pay for plates and insurance, so that this young man from our church will get a working vehicle to start out with.
So, I bid my S-10 a fond farewell. She has been a good truck, and I will miss her.
