My grandson who is in the 5th grade was given a writing assignment…to write a memoir. Here is what he wrote:
The Red Pickup Truck
The day my dad came home from my grandparent’s house was one of the happiest days of my life. He was driving my granddad’s 26 year old red pickup truck. That was four years ago, and since then, Dad and I drive it to every football and baseball practice and game I’ve played in since then. It’s my favorite car, and I ride in it every chance I get. My dad says that the air conditioning stopped working fifteen years ago, so we have to roll the windows down with the manual handle thingies. I know what you’re thinking. How can you still drive the truck after thirty years? Since my dad and his dad, Tuck, only drove it to and from football and baseball, it only has 39,000 miles!
I was sitting in the truck after football one day, and I sat on the seat back in the truck. It flopped over, and I found all kinds of “treasure” back there. I found a rusty, weathered baseball bat with no grip, a bunch of new baseballs, a popped football, a daddy longlegs, and lots and lots of dirt. I asked, “Dad, what is all this stuff doing back here?” “I was waiting for you to find that,” He replied.
But my favorite part of riding in the truck is my dad. We tell each other things that only I know or he knows, and that conversation never leaves the truck, unless the person who said the secret wants it to. We have fun talking about sports and other stuff. In football season, we talk football. In baseball season we talk baseball. We almost always know the stats, but sometimes we have to look them up. I love riding in the truck during the rain, but my dad doesn’t. I love it because the windshield wipers don’t work very well, so it looks like someone put a shower door where our windshield should be. Which is the exact reason my dad doesn’t like driving the truck in the rain. My dad and I love looking at other people’s reactions to seeing a thirty year old truck driving around Chastain Park full of tackling dummies or baseball equipment.
Many times people have asked us if the truck was for sale, and many times have we said no. If we ever go out to eat with teammates after practice, they have a war about who gets to ride in the truck with us. Everyone says I’m so lucky to have the truck to ride in to and from every practice. Every now and then, Maggie (my sister) rides in the truck with us, and she makes us listen to this song she says she loves. (I don’t actually think she likes it, I think she’s just trying to annoy me.) She rides in truck to softball, and she loves it almost as much as me. I love it more, though. She has a hard time rolling down the windows with the crank thing. I know how she feels, because I also wasn’t able to roll down those windows when I was her age.
I think that riding in the truck has taught me a lesson: any time spent with family members is time well spent.