Big Red Truck #2

The second big red truck in my life came about twenty years later. My husband, who had been walking across the road to medical school classes for two years, needed a vehicle to get across town for his clinical rotations. One of our criteria was six seats, if possible; our current Taurus sat only five, and that meant we couldn't include my mother on family outings. Hubs traveled two hours to visit the used lot where we bought the Taurus, near where we lived before. We trusted the owner, had known him before we even knew he sold cars.

He came back with a 1996 red Toyota T-100. Incredible. The kids were ecstatic. Dad was pretty happy, too. I was pleased with the six seats of course, but was skeptical of its age. Wasn't a '96 pretty old? "It's a Toyota," handsome Hubs said, confidently. "It will outlast the Taurus." Also, initially, I couldn't get over its size. After all, what were we playing at — what med student needs a farm truck for a 10 minute commute?

A med student who is also a husband and a son-in-law and a father of three active children, it turns out. And what we've been playing at is fun, when Hubs has us out for a ride, and the back is full of fishing poles, or bicycles, or our first real Christmas tree, or new (to us!) furniture. Even parked, the truck has been fun year-round: a snow-pit for the kids during their first big snow, a safe place to lie back and watch summer fireworks, a receptacle for Hubs' "science projects" (decomposing apple cores and banana peels), and a cool spot for the kids to gather with neighborhood friends.

Compared to my grandfather's shiny beauty, this truck could use some attention. Don't get me wrong - the body is in good condition, but the paint job has lost its luster and gained a well-loved rubbed look. I suspect that Hubs, in his secret self, likes driving around this symbol of American manhood. As an African missionary kid, I know he likes its practicality. But it can't hurt to feel like he fits in. For me, when I've driven it around town for whatever reason (which isn't often), I've garnered approving looks from truck-driving men. I have to admit that I enjoy wearing the tough-country-farm-chick persona for just a few minutes.

Big red truck #2 has driven the miles to a new state and a medical residency, and is sitting outside our townhouse. The engine roars at 5 am when Hubs leaves for rounds, and although I know he's waking the neighbors, the sound comforts me. The truck is working to carry him through another day, until he can be back home with us.