Big Red Truck #1

Happiness is . . . a big red truck.

I have had meaningful relationships with two pickup trucks in my life - and they have both been red. This must mean something . . . Oh, and it's probably significant that they each belong to one of the most important men in my life.

The first one I will describe with a poem inspired by William Carlos Williams' "Red Wheelbarrow":

Red Pickup Truck

so many smiles

began

with the red

pickup truck

glazed with white

sunshine

beside my grand

father.

My grandfather loved that truck. It was a brand-new Scottsdale, the pride of his retirement. He must have washed and waxed it regularly, because it shone spotless every time I saw it. I can still see him leaning his tall frame against it, horn-rimmed glasses above an amused half-smile, soft flannel shirt, and a leather belt with a large gold rectangular buckle securing gently worn blue jeans.

He would open the passenger door and lift me up with both hands. The tan cloth seat was always clean and ready for me to ride. Just me and Grandpa, off to pick up dinner during one of my visits to see him and Grandma. We didn't have to talk, either one of us. It was enough to share the smooth ride, way up there above the road, and the important task of bringing back something good. Sometimes it was McDonalds, where we'd always pick up the featured Peanuts tumbler or B.C. cereal bowl; our other favorite was Kentucky Fried Chicken, always Original because that's all they had then. We were always successful. We were always friends.