We drove away from the truck we’ve had for 17 years. In the bright, shiny new Jeep.
Our departure was abrupt. And I now feel the need to wax reminiscent. We bought the truck a year before the Teen was born. It was the vehicle we brought him home from the hospital in; strapped his little infant seat right into the front, and for the next year, he rode in the middle, right between Big Dude and I.
(what’s that you say? you can’t see the baby in the seat? he was kinda tiny. and Big Dude kinda looked like a baby himself. behold…)
But back to the truck … It got its first big dent not long after we bought it. Big Dude took it to an offroad park with several 4wd-ing co-workers. He drove right over a tree stump hidden by bushes. We later put black ink on our teeny-tiny, darling baby’s feet and pressed them right into the dent. The ink feet … amused us … and remained visible for about a decade, even through all the washings!
The impetus for buying such a big truck was to pull our boat. Which it did, faithfully. It also hauled junk to the dump, helped numerous friends to move, brought landscaping materials to our new home, carried us and our stuff and our dogs on about a gazillion road trips, and has been the only “tent” I’ve camped in since we bought it.
Speaking of camping, I spent the coldest, longest night of my life [not sleeping] in the back of the truck a couple years ago in Joshua Tree. It wasn’t the truck’s fault. We had neglected to bring our down comforter.
So this is my official goodbye. It’s a bit less abrupt than our car dealership departure. Goodbye, Truck. You’ve been very good to us.