In Memory of Dad

It is a privilege to have both my parents still alive, still within reach.  At times I wonder why I am so blessed when the Trucker has suffered the loss of his, though we know that they are more alive now than they ever were on this earth.

Today marks two years since we laid Dad's body to rest, under the headstone that also bore mom's name, and looked toward the future through our tears.  Two years during which we longed for his listening ear and counsel like never before.

What the Trucker shared at Dad's funeral gave insight into the man he was, and who the Trucker is now.  And it was re-read this morning as I remembered:

There are many things I could say about my relationship with my father. I could keep you here for hours. I could tell you about all the times I rode with him. How I learned how to deal with people and how to get the job done, by watching him. He taught me a love of driving, and of seeing the country. But I will try to keep it short.

My father seemed to be destined to drive truck. Early on one of his teachers recognized this. As Dad told me, the teacher said, “Weaver, can you spell “go”? He spelled it, then the teacher said, “Weaver, can you spell “stop”? After he spelled it, the teacher said, “That is all you need to know.”

I have known few people who were better prepared and able to fulfill the job they chose. Dad was able to sit behind the wheel for hours on end and after a short nap be ready to go again. His 15 minute naps were legendary. When I was young he would pull over, look at the clock, and tell me when to wake him, usually 15 – 30 minutes. He would lay down and be instantly asleep. When I would say, “Dad, it’s time to get up,” he would stop snoring and say, “OK.” One time he told my wife that “When we ran together some times Ronnie would get grouchy.” She asked him if he realized “Ron might need more sleep than you do?”

From the day Uncle Titus took him for his driver’s test to the day he was diagnosed with leukemia, he was always ready to do whatever needed done. He never asked a driver to do something he would not do himself. At times he took on the hard runs rather than ask someone else to do it.

When a driver made a mistake, he was ready to tell him. After he said his piece, he was ready to move on, and help the driver do better. I have certainly been at the other end of some of those talks. When it came to trucking, he was always ready to give advice to an old friend or someone he just met. I believe I can say there are few that have worked for Dad or with him who have not come to respect him.

He truly loved what he did, and passed that love on to me. One time when I was feeling guilty about being gone so many weekends and missing church so much, he acknowledged that church was important, but he told me, “Sometimes when driving I feel closer to God than in church.” I knew what he meant. To stop in the middle of the desert late at night and see all the stars, or to be driving early in the morning and watch the sky slowly lighten til the sun finally shows on the horizon. Or doing battle with rain and snowstorms. I remember when riding with him and later when I was on my own, racing a storm across the country trying to stay one step ahead of the bad weather. This is all part of God’s creation that he taught me to love.

A man can develop a longing to see the plains and the mountains, and for a man and his truck to try their skills and power against the terrain and the elements. These are things that he (and I) enjoy. A man has a need to test himself constantly to feel like he can still do the job.

My sisters tell me he would often say, “The Lord and trucking have been very good to me.” I do not remember him saying that, but then he didn’t have to tell me.

And on the side of the green Kenworth today, a gold lettered tribute that reads, 

Riding with the memory of Pancho, 

and all he taught me.