Goodbye Old Yeller,
The following is a Facebook conversation between myself, my brother, and my mom regarding the death of the 1970 Ford pickup that was our primary vehicle growing up.
Brother: Sad day
Me: I have tears in my eyes….
Brother: …of joy. You hated that truck when we were younger.
Me: I loved the pickup. I made mom park a block from school because I was embarrassed to be seen with you.
Mom: I have nightmares about that truck. It was constantly running low of water in the radiator and overheated, the throttle would get stuck and flames would shoot out the hood, the brakes needed pumped if you wanted to stop, the windshield wipers didn’t work. In the winter, it wouldn’t make it up the hill because the tires were bald, it guzzled gas, the steering wheel gave me bicepts of a weight lifter. In short, I’m surprised we survived your childhood.
Me: You forgot one thing mom, you were too short to see over the steering wheel.
Mom: True because the seat wouldn’t adjust!
Brother: I wonder if there is a dent from my forehead smashing into the dash at the stop light by Walmart.
Mom: That’s because it didn’t have seat belts. Good thing the traffic hazard is off the road.
Me: I remember that! And when the pickup died on the way home from church and we had to walk up Coleman Butte.
Me: The pickup will be reincarnated as a great modern building, raising high above the landscape, as it was always intended.
Mom: I doubt that it would be reincarnated as a great building, maybe a lowly worm.
Me: Ok, maybe like a really nice lawn mower.
Mom: Closer, a man-eating, broken down lawnmower.
Mom: Kind of got carried away, sorry to tarnish the reputation of this collectable, it’s the protective mother in me venting my frustrations of long ago.