The firemen's truck

and the fireman's son

That truck has got a lot of life left into it.

JR’s voice shook a bit as he told me.

There’s a rust hole in the front fender. You any good at workin’ with bondo? I have some fiberglass tools if you want them.

Having the tools already, I smiled and declined.

I used to do all that. Not any more though. I’m 83. I’m all wore out.

I took the keys and drove around the block. JR’s owned this truck for thirty years. The drive was a formality. JR used to fix everything. Mowers, tillers, chainsaws - if it burnt gas, he’d fix it in his little shop.

The shop was a temple. Everything was perfect. Pieces of seasoned ash, maple and other types of wood were stashed in the ceiling.

I paint the ends of them all so I knows what type of wood it is.

A wood stove burned cherrily in the corner.

JR was 53 when he drove that red GMC pick-up off the lot - two years older than I am now.

I’m 83 and stuff doesn’t work like it used to. I don’t work like I used to. I can’t keep my truck because I can’t get my walker into t…