Missing My Dad

How many of you had similar childhoods as mine? Dad’s truck was hypnotizing to me. When he came home, I would be all over that truck, studying the moves dad made as he maneuvered it, and investigating any new gadgets he may have added to it. I loved the smell of it, the sound of it, and the sight of it. As a matter of fact, I’m even assembling one of my own trucks to resemble one of his that impressed me so much. I remember countless hours spent in the cab of his truck, pretending to drive off to far-away places that I loved to go with him. Sometimes, he would even play along with me and get in the passenger seat and act as though I was teaching HIM how to drive. He would ask me what each of the gauges were for, and what function the switches performed – he would make sure I was looking at the mirrors and gauges, frequently, like a good driver does. And there, in the driveway, we would head off to anywhere we chose. I used to invite my friends over to play in the truck, and although it was fun for them, too, it occurs to me that they were not as well-traveled as I was, so it was harder for them to imagine the places we were pretending to go. Father’s Day is coming soon and I am recalling those moments that my dad shared with me that were such a huge influence on my life. Sometimes, I wish I could take more “driveway runs” with my dad (they were nearly as important to me as the actual trips I got to go on with him). Happy Father’s Day to the dads out there. Please take the time to positively include – and influence – your kids in what you do. It will stick with them long after you’re gone.

THE DRIVEWAY RUN
By Trevor Hardwick

I fell asleep last night in some strange town,
It’d been a long hard day, of hammer-down.
I crawled into my bed, above the sheets,
To the sound of traffic, on the streets.

My mind then drifted to a summer day,
I was in my yard, with friends, at play.
Suddenly, my dad pulled ‘round the bend,
I just stopped, and watched, that rig roll in.

All my friends would also lose their minds,
We would leave our toys, and bikes behind.
Dad’s old rig, shined brightly in the sun,
His long run, was finally over, and done.

He pulled in and set the brakes so loud,
I approached, and I was oh, so proud.
The door swung open, he said, “hey, young man,”
“Grab these bags, and give your dad a hand.”

He climbed down, and I would hug his leg,
“Can I get in the truck,” he’d hear me beg.
“Suit yourself, just don’t get lost,” he’d smile,
And I would lose myself, in pretend miles.

I could smell the armor-all he sprayed,
And I could see the bed, was neatly made.
Peacock feathers, hanging from the fan,
Cigarette ashes, in a soda can.

Glitter switches matched the gearshift knob,
I couldn’t dream, of any cooler job.
I could barely grip, the big round wheel,
And I cannot describe, the way I feel.

In my driveway I would travel far,
On the super slab, in dad’s largecar.
Plug an 8-track in, and feel the beat,
Push the button, raise the air-ride seat.

Head out west and cross the desert bare,
Then head south, without a single care.
Head up north, into the blinding snow,
I went anywhere, I’d like to go.

Cruise the truck stop lot with lights aglow,
Seeing old friends, that I used to know.
Idle ‘round, and keep my speed real slow,
Park this ‘Shaker, in the far back row.

The lot is busy and it never fails,
The CB crackles, with old drivers’ tales.
I shut the engine down, turn the dome light on,
I’ve lost track of, how long I’ve been gone.

I fell asleep at home in dad’s old rig,
Just a little boy, who felt so big.
I crawled into his bed, above the sheets,
To the sound of traffic, on the streets.