THE TABLES GET TURNED
By Heather Anderson (Trevor’s Sister)
Trevor has always been and always will be the “Trucker” in our family. Our dad has driven truck all his adult life, sure, but Trevor was born a Trucker. From the time he could talk, he has been rattling on and on about trucks. In grade school, while other kids played four-square and dodgeball, Trevor was busy rigging his wagon up to his green machine and forming a cardboard box shell to camouflage the contraption into looking like a semi. He knows every line in the movies “Convoy” and “Smokey and the Bandit” (just ask him – he knows it all). He even had to have throat surgery as a child because he emulated the voice of Transformer’s big rig leader Optimus Prime to the point that it strained his vocal chords. No one ever truly understood his passion. Once, Trevor acquired a sleeper from a truck and tried to attach it to his bedroom window so that he could use it as his bed. As he grew, so did his passion. He could tell you the year, model and motor of a semi by the sound of it driving down the road from miles away – and he was always right. He also found an outlet in art – he can draw semis to scale freehand. Despite his incredible artistic abilities, Trevor holds steadfast in his love for the road (most just shake their heads in disbelief after seeing what he is capable of with a pen). Knowing that he chooses every day to keep his art his hobby and trucking his life, I find Trevor’s dedication inspiring. Most people go to work to pay the bills, but Trevor is blessed in that he can do what he loves every day – and it pays the bills for him. I am sure that those of you who have read his poems feel that you have an insight as to who Trevor is, but in honor of Trevor’s approaching birthday (March 31), I thought you might appreciate a poem about Trevor from his sister’s perspective. Happy birthday, brother! I love you always. Your sister, Heather.
A BROTHER LIKE NO OTHER
By Heather L. Anderson
His first word was “fruck,” superhero: Rubberduck,
He could tell a Mack from a Pete by its purr.
His heart pumps diesel, he loves chrome ladies in mud,
And knows every show truck that is, was or were.
Trev Trucker, my brother, like him there’s no other,
To him a life on the road is like fame.
The road is his home, he travels more than the Gnome,
And knows every waitress at the TA by name.
His rig is like art, inspiring the poems in his heart,
With chicken lights and gadgets galore.
Making friends on the air, keeping watch for a bear,
These things make his free spirit soar.
At 10 years of age, Dad said, “Son, keep ‘er straight,”
As he hopped in that driver’s seat proud.
No closer to heaven, could a 10-year-old get,
As he rev’d up that Cat engine loud.
The years rolled on past him, now a man, 33,
But his passion for trucking stays true.
Sure as cowboys have bull rides, and surfers have waves,
Truckers have loads to get through.
Deadlines are tough, mountains get snowy,
And back roads make greenhorns grow old.
But each load has its story, and each driver a tale,
To Trevor those stories are gold.
Yep, Trev Trucker’s my brother, like him there’s no other.
So I’d like to send him this birthday poem.
Hope your day turns out great, whoop it up, celebrate,
But please point that semi towards home.