Boys and Trucks

Michelle and I spent Friday and Saturday cleaning out the garage. It seems simple enough, however, it was actually quite daunting. I had been putting it off for about a month now, but I finally got the "its getting done" look this week. The major problem was the fact that I had my dad's 1988 F150, LONG bed in the garage. It had been in there long enough that we just basically started using the bed of the truck as storage space as well. I think the turning point was when I layed something on the hood, and said, "that's temporary".

Friday, my best friend and I went to a junkyard to retrieve a column for the truck. This was a necessary part, as I couldn't start the truck, therefore, not able to move the truck out of the garage that needed to be cleaned. Once we got to the junkyard, I was told that the column I needed was not actually on the shelf, but still in the truck out on the yard. For those of you who have never been to a junkyard, its not a place you go to immidiately after work, on a Friday, at 5pm. These guys have things to do. Enough said. I think the only reason they even talked to me was the fact that I was looking for a part for a 1988 F150. This is considered a "good year", especially since it has a V8.

On the way home, I started thinking about how in the world I was going to get the truck out of the garage. I knew that the cleaning was going to be done, and that Michelle was planning on doing it, whether the truck was in there or not. I got visions (nightmares) of me pushing that truck out of the garage, just so we could clean, then push it back in. Ouch.

Once home, I headed straight out to the garage. I climbed into the truck, and that is when the passenger door opened up. In crawled my oldest.
"Dad, whatcha doin'?"
"Trying to start the truck."
"Why?"
"So we can clean out the garage."
"What?"
"Your mom says the garage needs to be cleaned out, and that includes getting the truck out of the garage."
"What's wrong with the truck?"
"It won't start."
"Why?"
(sigh) "Because I drilled the ignition switch out of the column."
"Why did you do that?"
(Silent grown) "Its a long story. I just need to figure out how to get it started, that's all."
"How are you going to do that?"
"I am not sure yet."
About that time an idea hit me, and I reached down and pushed on the rod that engages that starter, and started the truck. My son got so excited he started jumping up and down on the seat laughing. Thank you God. I am the provider for family. I save the day. Once again, dad can do anything. My son climbs out of the truck, and heads inside, proclaiming to all that dad has started the truck. How long does this last? By the way: what is it about boys and trucks?

If you had come over to the house on Saturday, you would have seen the truck in the driveway, my son in the bed "cleening it out", me trying to find room for tools, Michelle sweeping, and my little girl throwing things away. We didn't go to Chuckie Cheese. I didn't go bike riding. Michelle didn't scrap book. The kids didn't watch cartoons. We just cleaned the garage. For some reason, we were all happy.

Sunday, I decided it was time to go get the TV. This is yet another long story, but it is still relevant. I had a teen from church go with me to help carry the TV and other essentials of the home theater system. I am getting in the truck, when I look back, and see my son standing at the door. I crank the truck, and wave at him to come on. He doesn't even wait to put his shoes on. Again, what is it about boys and trucks?

This morning, I am in the bathroom getting dressed when the door opens. In walks my son.
"You driving the truck to work today?"
"Not today."
"Why not?"
"No reason."
"Can we drive it tonight?"
"Why?"
"No reason."

What is it about boys and trucks?