THANKS, DAD!
BY TRUCKER/POET/ARTIST TREVOR HARDWICK
Many of you drivers out there probably share a similar up-bringing as I had. At least when it comes to your trucking influences. My dad has driven trucks for nearly four decades now, and since I’ve been around for three of them, my roots in the “biz” run deep. If you’re like me, you undoubtedly cherish the miles and memories you experienced as a child riding in your dad’s dinosaur diesel. Since Father’s Day is this month, I’d like to share a poem that I hope many drivers out there can relate to. The photos are of my grandma Edna standing in front of my grandpa Mac’s Bubblenose White-Freightliner in 1962, a cabover White-Freightliner that my dad had in the 1980’s, and a cool 1977 cabover White-Freightliner that I owned and drove to school my senior year (1995)! I guess you could say I’m a victim of a “dad” influence.
THE “DAD” INFLUENCE
By Trevor Hardwick
Hey, dad, it’s me, again, I’m waiting to unload.
It’s been a long ol’ haul this time, right down a bumpy road.
But I made it here, right on time, the load is damage free.
That just proves an apple, doesn’t fall far from the tree.
I’m just like you, some people say, I picked the same career.
To fill your shoes might just well be, my mother’s greatest fear.
But I recall so dearly, all those trips I used to take.
The greater part of me, is in those miles we used to make.
While other kids my age would spend, their summers on vacation.
I’d spend mine passing state lines, billboards and weigh stations.
Hey, pops, I’d like to tell you, that to me there’s nothing finer.
Than the miles I put in that jumpseat, of your old White-Freightliner.
The lessons in geography, could not have been surpassed.
The Golden Gate, the Gateway Arch, or a Rocky Mountain Pass.
I remember when I’d hold the wheel, while sitting on your lap.
It’s no wonder how I chose to drive, a truck across the map.
A victim of a “dad” influence? There’s no victim here at all.
I’m proud of how you raised me up, to care for what I haul.
The 12 years I’ve been driving truck, and shifting through the gears.
Could never touch the expertise, you’ve learned in 40 years.
I remember hanging tire chains, on snowy winter nights.
I remember how your old trucks looked, and all those chicken lights.
I remember tarping flatbed loads, and stacking produce, too.
I think of how I’d try so hard, to mimic what you do.
Now here I am, I’m all grown up, a million miles or more for me.
This country sure don’t seem as big, as what it used to be.
I sure miss the good ol’ days, but I’m glad to be right here.
I wonder what it might be like, if I drive 40 years.
Okay ol’ man, it’s time to go, they’re through unloading me.
Maybe we’ll cross paths out here, and we’ll truck-talk over tea.
So chase tomorrow hammer down, like a Big Bird flyin’ low.
By the way, I love you, dad, just thought that you should know!
