I called my grandfather “Papa.” In ‘93, when I was 3 years old, he traded an old van for a brand new pickup. She was a bright red and could go anywhere, be it up-state or out-of-state. She was a reliable, powerful machine that would come to see so many wonders and journeys. Well after a few years, she got some problems and my grandparents drove a ‘78 Impala for a while.
When I turned 19 and finally got my learner’s permit, I really wanted my own vehicle. Everyone told me that the truck wouldn’t ride again, but it took only a little TLC, and she was good as new. I present to you the truck that I still drive today at 22 years old. It was Papa’s truck, and we rode everywhere together. He taught me how to drive and told me so many stories in that truck. Every time I drive her, I feel him next to me in the shotgun seat. I hear his laugh when I roll the windows down, and I still hear his advice for life echo in my head. The times we had together and the time we spent together mean a lot to me and they always will. He was and is my hero.
R.I.P Papa, I love you so much, and I miss you more than I can bare, but I know I’ll see you again. Thank you for everything you taught me.
Somethin’ bout a truck..
My baby. <3
The reason my truck isn’t huge?
Because I don’t have to make up for anything ;)
And I don’t remember what was poundin’ more
The heart in my chest, or the hood of that Ford
As the sky fell in, the storm clouds poured
Worlds were way outside
Me again. Showin’ off my guns. :P
