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 the back of her. The tail gaits’ to heavy.
JR faded a bit and spoke about his sweetie of over sixty years.
…oh she used to take care of all that stuff. She used to take care of me.
Nine months after her passing, JR was functional. Functional and sad.
I took care of that truck for thirty years. Now you need to. My son said, that at least it’s going to Jimmy’s son. She’s staying in the family.
I assured him that I would. She’s in good hands Jim.
That’s good Jimmy. We need to care for these old things. We need to keep them around. The longer we keep things around, the less we waste. That’s how I see it. Fix it. Don’t throw it away.
Everything in JR’s shop was a testament to a different time. Raised rural, JR could fix most things. He grew up on a farm repairing, inventing and improvising machines to make life easier.
The machines these days? They don’t do much. Sure I can talk and send people pictures all over the place, but what actual good does this do? He held up his phone and shook it This makes people crazy.
He shook his head wryly.
And they want everything powered by batteries. What are we going to do then? Who knows how to fix a battery? You can’t get the tools to do it yourself. It’s like they don’t want us to fix anything anymore.
My dad and JR have had a friendship lasting over fifty years.
JR’s truck has lasted thirty. Moreover, JR has saved hundreds of machines from the landfill, saving the need for hundreds to be produced, transported and sold.
All of this though has come with care.
You paid a fair price for that truck son.
For a truck as old as it is, I paid a lot.
Given the love, attention, maintenance and care that went into the truck, I got it at a great price.
But being trusted by JR to continue to care for his truck?
That was priceless.
I hope to keep her going another thirty years - or at least until I’m too worn out to keep it on the road.
Though when I see my dad and his buddy JR hanging out in the shop, I have a clear picture of my future - or what I hope my future looks like: Old and in pain with a worn out body from years of hard work, surrounded by a close family and a few good friends and of course, the memories…
But like the truck, I’ve got a lot of life left into me.