NORMAN — When I married my husband, I also inherited 3,000 pounds of pure American steel. Before you think I’m saying cruel things about my husband, I’d like to point out I’m talking about a truck. Not that I don’t think my husband is a hunk of manly force, but he doesn’t weigh 3,000 pounds. Not even close.
I’m not going to deny the fact that a transplant from Kansas didn’t find it attractive that a boy from Oklahoma would own a Ford truck. If television has taught us anything, it’s that a man in a truck is just the best thing since sliced bread. Trucks are rugged and bold. That’s how us Kansas girls like our men.
Fast forward almost 10 years, and add a couple hundred oil changes and about three or four new sets of tires, and that same big black monster that he drove way back then is still sitting in my driveway. This truck, although still running fine, has been a point in our marriage that has generated a little bit of discussion.
For starters, I can’t drive a standard transmission vehicle. For every driving lesson we took during my teenage days, I’d always get nervous with my dad as my co-pilot.
In fact, to this day I still get a little antsy when he’s in the car. So teaching me to drive wasn’t the easiest of things my dad has ever done.
I always figured Dad’s nerves couldn’t handle teaching me how to drive another form of transportation, so I never learned how to drive a stick shift. And still, even though there’s an opportunity to learn with that 3,000-pound Ford in my driveway, I value my marriage too much to ask my husband to teach me how to drive it.
The other talking point about this truck is every morning, I hold my breath that it will start. This truck has been cruising down the streets and highways of Oklahoma since 1997.
So when my husband leaves for work every morning, part of my routine is to listen for that distinctive sound signaling yet another day that vehicle is on the road.
But the main nerve is hit when we talk about the day this truck will no longer be in our lives — a topic I bring up often, but one that my husband doesn’t want to engage in.
I understand his pain. A few years ago I had to give up my “single lady” car. It was a red Pontiac that was the first big purchase I’d ever made as an adult. The car was perfect for one, but with a tall husband and two dogs, it just didn’t manage well.
I’m sure one day, I’ll pull into my driveway and see that truck gone. There are a lot of memories attached to it, and it’s odd to think that a vehicle could do that to a person.
That truck has brought home many of my zany large purchases from garage sales and local merchants. Once, it aided in hauling off a very ugly ceiling fan.
Other passengers in that truck have included old lumber, paint cans and dirt to fill in the holes in the backyard.
It’s served its purpose well and, for 3,000 pounds, it seems that it didn’t take long to wiggle it’s way into my heart — almost like the one who drives it.
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