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Dream Truck

I’m not a man of the South. I am not a Southerner by nature. However, I do live on what I consider to be the cusp of the South. Just south of Richmond, Virginia is where, in my opinion, you begin to find widespread Dixie or Confederacy pride. In my small town, you see cars donning Confederate flags as bumper stickers. You see tattoos on the chests of 50-year-old women. You witness racism here and there, but because it’s the 21st century, people are finally getting their act together. So even if aren’t outwardly discriminating, they still hold onto their inward prejudices. Sometimes, I’m no different.
One thing that many individuals of Southern heritage do enjoy and take pride in is a man’s truck. People bump them up, putting big tires on these automobiles. They drive them off-road through the mud, an activity known to many as “routin’.” If there’s one thing that I appreciate about the South, other than sweet ice tea, it is having a truck. Though I don’t own a truck, I hope to one day own such a vehicle. If I owned a truck, I would put a small bed in the truck bed. I would buy a really comfy mattress and cover it securely to insure that no water seeps into my baby. And I would keep it in my truck at all times. Last night, my friends and I got together to have some beer and play a board game called Balderdash—I highly recommend it. After the game, we made a run out to Wendy’s down the street. My buddy Matt and I sat in the back of my friend Jordan’s truck and we leaned back and witnessed stars zoom on by; the view was kind of like watching some sort star show in a planetarium, where the ceiling is a screen that flashes images across it. Wondering about what could possibly exist in the vast celestial bodies of the universe, I made a promise to myself that I would get this truck, just so I could drive out to the middle of nowhere, somewhere with a clearing, and I would hop in the back of the truck and lay down to soak in the magnificence of the vastness of the universe. I would keep bug spray in the back of the truck, where my comfiest hooded sweatshirt and sweatpants and turn on some good jams.
Over winter break this year, my suitemates from sophomore year in college and I went on a brief road trip from Phoenix, Arizona to Las Vegas. On our way there, we made a brief stop in the middle of the desert to take a leak. We pulled over on the side of a road just off an exit, got out, and none of us could believe how clear the sky was. I saw stars that I could never see in New York; they lit up the sky.
When I think about this dream truck, I imagine driving across the country with my kids during the summer. We would obviously check into hotels for proper sleep, but we would take our time getting there. We would lay out on the mattress in the back and simply gaze. There’s something serene about looking at stars. And also something paradoxical about the stars we see everyday. These stars are places that we can see on a daily basis; however, they are millions and millions of light years away, and we’ll never get to them. On the other hand, there are places that we can get to in this world that we will never see. Even in places in our own town or state that are wonders and beautiful sights, we often never venture to seek out.
I thank the South for instilling in me a fondness for trucks. I thank the clear skies of suburban Virginia for allowing me to see and fall for the stars.

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Categories: Uncategorized
  1. Rachel
    April 19, 2011 at 2:24 am

    Yes and girls love guys in big, shiny, jacked up trucks (preferably Chevy or Dodge) for some reason. Me and my sister both would admit to this. But we’re from Kentucky (I was also going to say that where I’m from, we call what you said was “routin” muddin’ and it’s good dirty fun). Maybe not all girls like guys in trucks, but I would say that “most” would be a good word to describe the general amount of us that do. I love your blog, by the way. Very insightful and gives us hope that there are still good guys out there who are romantics at heart!

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