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.
Sigh.
ReplyDeleteI shall share a few of my favorite memories of the truck. My boom wagon. Where is the rebel bass, buh buh buh bass?
I first drove the truck on a an access road back to the Nappanee brush dump. One day there was a low-grade fire going when Dad and I dropped off some brush. Dad let me try to maneuver the truck out of the paddock where the brush was, back onto the access road. I promptly backed the truck into the fire and killed the engine. Dad jumped in from the passenger side, pushed me out onto my butt, restarted the truck and got it out of the fire. No curse words were ever uttered.
Not quite the same story when I stalled the truck in the middle of 6 and 19. Of course I was the one to say the bad words.
Unless I was driving with Mom. I don't know how I survived. If I didn't kill us in traffic, I felt Mom and I would get so mad at each other that she would.
If that truck has had three clutches, then we've both burned out one. I burned out the first one while I was co-oping in Kokomo. Peeled out of the parking lot with a little too much clutch. Nursed it home. Drove Papaw's powder blue truck for the next week while the clutch plate was replaced.
My first speeding ticket was in that truck. Didn't think it could go 75, didja? It was actually faster, but the cop caught me slowing down. Truckin' home from school after my Freshman year. Blasting Def Leppard and Aerosmith the entire way. Yes, on tape. And a little Proclaimers (IIII would walk five. hun. dred. miles.). I was an odd kid.
Sigh. Gonna miss that truck. It sounds like it is going to a good cause. May the Lord bless and keep safe the man that will be the next owner.
Dear son,
ReplyDeleteOle blue will be missed (I think you have a name for the truck, just didn't remember. I'm so glad someone getting a new start has so many like you wanting to help. The truck is still much needed it sounds like.
I too have memories of riding with a new driver and scared out of my whits on a busy road with lots of traffic and stalling (mother isn't much better with a stick).
Dad and country music loud and trying to embarrass his sons at middle school. Trash dump burning and someone backing over it with the gas tank so near the fire. I think that aged dad a few.
Purchased in l987 for $5,000...we sure got our monies worth didn't we?
Truck will be missed but the memories are there. I will write of them in Ian's book for him to have too.
"One of the worst things that ever happened to couples was the mass adoption of bucket seats."
ReplyDeleteMy first memory of Eric's truck was driving back to Bethel after meeting his parents for the first time. It was a warm, sunny afternoon, and I had had a lot of strawberry cheesecake from Mary's bakery. I fell asleep against the window on the passenger side (not in the middle seat -- we weren't officially dating yet) and slept most of the 40-minute drive back to campus. I remember waking up when we got there and not even being embarrassed that I fell asleep on what was supposed to be a date. It was then that I had my first inkling that something serious could begin between Eric and I. I just felt so comfortable with him.
ReplyDeleteOf course, later, there were the countless "Meijer runs" just before campus curfew, where we'd meet at the truck, both wearing flannel pants, and drive the mile or two to the superstore to pick up who knows what. Eric would let me shift since it was hard for him to get to the stick with me sitting over it.
And then the summer that Eric was working at Hope College in Holland, Michigan, we'd tool around the shores of Lake Michigan, taking some time off a busy week of work to enjoy the sunshine and fresh water.
I know the passing of this truck is difficult for Eric, but not in the way that he can't give it up. That hunk of metal just holds so many memories. I guess in some way, when an earthly treasure (which really has been destroyed by rust!) passes on, sometimes we might be afraid that the memories won't come as easily and that we'll eventually forget them as we get older and time moves on. But the important ones will be there, creeping into our thoughts at the oddest moments, causing us to smile and think about fun times in the past. What's great is that the future holds fun times, too.
I hope you guys are as sentimental about me when I get that rusted.
ReplyDeleteI remember though when the paint was a deep, bottomless, metallic blue. The seats were soft and unripped,the engine purred, and the clutch flawlessly smooth. This was a... long... time ago.
It is hard to describe a man's delight with his first truck. Your mom and I enjoyed that bench seat first, you know. I wonder how many deeply personal, perhaps life changing conversations took place there over the years?
I don't think you guys can yet appreciate how difficult it is to see kids that you love more than life, drive proudly down the street, solo, for the first time. I am so thankful that God spared you guys from the tragedy lurking in every parent's imagination.
And now, old truck, old friend. . .goodbye.
You did good.