Family Trucking Ties

Merry Christmas everyone!  I’m just sitting here thinking of a poem to write for this issue and, as usual, I’ve had a dozen or so ideas rolling around in my head, but nothing really came to fruition.  Whenever possible, I like to write about something that most readers could relate to.  But this time, I found myself writing a poem that sort of wrote itself, and so I rolled with it.  It may not be exactly relatable to everyone, but hopefully it’s still enjoyable.  My dad was the oldest of seven siblings and was much older than his youngest brother, David.  Through a long history of family trials, dad wasn’t close with any of his siblings, except for David.  So, David is my uncle, and he is only a couple years older than me.  Our childhood years were shared in the same awe and wonder of the massive influence of my dad.  We both enjoyed spending as much time as we could hanging around dad and his big trucks.  We were even slightly competitive when it came to “properly” playing with our toy trucks.  The fact is, some kids make ridiculous diesel engine sounds, and aren’t very skilled at maneuvering a matchbox chicken truck.  But David and I, being influenced by my dad, were absolute masters of our craft when it came to playing with our trucks.  His were always nicer and more neatly organized than my collection, but the spirit of what fueled those toys was the same in each of us.  David’s big brother, my dad, has been gone for several years.  David and I still play with trucks, with a higher price tag, but with the same driven spirit handed down by a legend in our minds.

UNCLE DAVID
By Trevor Hardwick

The youngest brother of my dad’s,
And grandma’s youngest son.
That’s my uncle David,
Out there chasin’ down the sun.

As kids we played together,
Since we’re nearly the same age.
Playing with our little trucks,
Or crayons on a page.

We both admired my old man,
Or idolized, perhaps.
We each learned how to drive a truck,
While sitting on his lap.

I recall how neatly,
David’s toys were organized.
Armored cars and tanks and jeeps,
And rigs of every size.

I’d spend a day at David’s house,
Just playing with his toys.
Diesel noises filled the house,
From the mouths of us two boys.

All the miles we must’ve rolled,
With toy trucks in our hands.
Inspired by his brother,
Which was also my old man.

Somewhere back in time,
I guess we grew out of our youth.
But never really grew up much,
To tell the honest truth.

My family moved to Texas,
And his to Arkansas.
We blinked our eyes and years went by,
And left us here in awe.

He lost his brother years ago,
The day I lost my dad.
But neither of us lost,
The precious memories we’ve had.

Uncle David plays with trucks,
A nice Pete 3-7-9.
And I feel like a little kid,
In this K-Whopper of mine.

He rolls between the Show-Me state,
And the Wasatch Mountain Range.
Still making diesel noises,
I guess some things never change.

I stay out on the west coast now,
Just up and down the 5.
We call each other every week,
To BS while we drive.

A couple old school kids at heart,
We’ve covered lots of ground.
Tryin’ to fill the shoes,
Of one we wish was still around.

The youngest brother of my dad’s,
And grandma’s youngest son.
That’s my uncle David,
Out there chasin’ down the sun.