The Truck

Here in the wide open spaces of Texas, the primary method of locomotion is the car. Wheeled transportation is vital for even the most ordinary of errands, as nothing is within walking distance, particularly in the hundred degree heat of the summer. My family has three vehicles, each having a different personality, and each serving its own purpose.

The primary mode of transportation is what Herself affectionately refers to as "the big honkin' van". It is an older white conversion van, perfect for long drives on family vacations with the camper-trailer. The van is slightly less convenient for daily activities; though it easily holds three fully-loaded taekwondo bags (and more), its rather bulky shape renders it ungainly in local traffic, not to mention problematic for parking. Nevertheless, it is a solid family car. Herself uses it to shuttle the Offspring back and forth from school, to do hunting and gathering at the grocery store, and to run the myriad small errands necessary to keep the Family Machinery running smoothly.

The second vehicle is Herself's Beloved's car. A wee little sports car, it holds only two people. At the moment, only one person in the family can drive it, since Herself does not drive stick shift. (Nor does she parallel park. Those are two things she never learned properly, she tells me.) It is a bit of a luxury to have this car, in view of its limited capacity for passengers and family drivers. Nevertheless, it makes Herself's Beloved quite happy, and it soothes him and brings him happiness after a long day of work. So this car is A Good Thing Indeed.

The last vehicle is the oldest of the three. A sturdy green pickup truck, it was purchased used many years ago, but still retains its shine and pep despite having nearly 150,000 miles upon it. The whole family can fit in it if necessary, although that is a bit cramped. It is generally used for trips to the dump, errands to the hardware store, or pilgrimages to the firing range.

Lately, Herself has learned that the truck is, in fact, her favorite vehicle.

There is something magical about the truck. It's a modest vehicle - nothing flashy or noteworthy about it. All the same, and perhaps because of its humbleness, the truck suits her personality best. One should be sufficiently independent, capable and practical to drive a truck. And she is.

I asked her, why does she enjoy the truck so much?

Well, it is difficult -- she tells me -- not to be consumed by the job of motherhood. The Offspring require such involved and almost constant care. So many times, she is known (and addressed) as "This Offspring's mother" or "That Offspring's mom". That is normal and expected. She accepts it, for she loves the Offspring with a visceral force that permeates every cell of her body.

Yet there are moments when she would like to recapture the tranquility of being just herself. She thinks nostalgically of the days when she did not have the responsibility for so many lives other than her own, and somehow, the truck has an ability to transport her back to that time. When she is behind the wheel of the truck, she is her own woman. She's not just somebody's mother, ferrying children in a van like everybody else's mother. She is herself.

It's a lovely sensation. It passes too quickly when she parks the truck and enters the house full of Offspring, pets, laundry, work, and miscellany. Yet those few shining moments in the truck provide her inner fuel for the continued journey. And that is also A Very Good Thing Indeed.