THAT OLD TRUCK SMELL

          As we turn into an alley of our hometown, my dad's eyes widen, but not as wide as the smile on his face.  When I look out the front windshield, I see why dad has been so excited all morning.  We stopped the car next to an old pickup that is blue for the most part, except for the rusty, off-white front fenders.  On the drivers door is a hand-painted panda bear face with a grin as big as dads. 

          After a few walk-a rounds and a couple of tire-kicks from me, the owner of the truck came out to talk.  How much? my dad asked.  Only fifty bucks came the quick reply of the owner, eager to get rid of this well-used truck.  After what seemed like hours to this eleven year-old boy, anxious for a test ride, the year of the truck and final price was settled: $35, the same price dad paid for a .22 rifle, a lawn mower, and who knows how much other stuff.  He later told me $50 bucks is too much to pay, $25 usually isn't enough, but $35 will do the trick.  Dad and the former owner shook hands, both smiling, knowing that they got the better end of the deal.  But I know that dad, the smartest person on earth, got the better deal.  Dad always told me all you need is a price and a handshake.  

When I seen the handshake on the deal, I knew it was official.  I jumped on the running board and stuck my head inside the window for a good look at our new truck.  Whoa, what is that smell?  I thought to myself dad didnt even open the doors to look inside and he already shook hands.  Dad never goes back on his word.  If we leave the windows down on the ride home, maybe the smell will go away before mom sees the truck.  "Let's go." came the familiar voice.  "We need your mom to pull us home."  "Pull us?"  My smartest person on earth just went to number four, the spot my kid brother held, but I still held him above my older sisters.  What do they know, because theyre just girls. 

I humbly step down from the pickup with my head only looking up enough to see the door handle of the car.  All the way home, dad is excited about the piece of junk that wont even run.  He's commenting on how he needs to fix this, fix that, paint this, and do that.  I'm trying to decide if I shouldn't have placed him at #6, behind my two older sisters, but I can't do that, I love my dad and they are just two girls that make me take a bath, change my socks, and all the other things that make my life so much fun.

When pulling into the driveway, I look for something to busy myself while dad tries to explain this one to mom.  "We got it, $35," he shouts to mom, who is standing on the porch smiling.  I'm thinking, Great, he just made me an accomplice.   "When can we pick it up?" mom asks.  Either I missed something, or mom knows something I dont.  I'll get the chain and tire, and we can pick it up now," says dad.  Suddenly, all my faith in my dad is restored.  "I'll get the chain and tire", a quote so familiar to me.  How could I ever have doubted my dads judgment, or forget that he fixes other peoples cars all the time at his shop; some needing the chain and tire to get there, but never to leave.  So with mom in the car, we return to the pickup, but now I hold my head a little higher remembering dads talents and moms faith in him.  Dad hooks the chain to the weathered front bumper of the pickup, and the shiny rear bumper of our car.  Mom slowly pulls ahead as I watch the chain tightening the two loops around the tire to absorb the shock each time mom pulls away at intersections.  What a pair; no two any better at towing vehicles, or anything else they decide to do.  All the way to the shop, I start to understand the smiles on the faces of these two and begin my own love for that old truck smell; the same smell that seems to accompany every old truck.  

Little Ray