There’s just something about a truck. It seems there has always been a truck in the background of my life. They support my obsession of the moment. The one I have now is different. It represents the first time I ever said, “I’m going to buy a truck today,” and did.

The rest of the trucks in my life have been necessary accidents. As a teen, I did not own a truck, but as I tinkered with cars and hot rods, it didn’t take long to realize the value of one. I knew a guy who’s dad had one, and I needed one, so we became friends. When you are learning engines and stuff, there are many mistakes to make, and a truck is essential to tow your learning curve back to the garage.

As I progressed to my Volkswagen period, the venerable VW bus was an essential. It filled the previous roles, and was a place to live if you had to. I never had to, but I did. After high school, a group of guys and I bought an old VW bus and drove it from Texas to South America and back. The thing that I remember most about this adventure is the day we were all able to shower and put on clean clothes.

When we opened the door to the bus, the smell knocked us over. Four guys living in a VW bus produces a pungent odor. I’m sure that’s the reason we never had any trouble with thieves.

Our current truck is no “Cowboy Cadillac”. There are no frills, unless you count air conditioning as such. The truck is a single cab, three-quarter ton, big block, heavy duty, work truck with an eight-foot bed. Vinyl seats and rubber floors make it so you can turn a hose on the inside to clean it out. I’ve done it.

This ain’t no sissy truck. You don’t “get” into it as you would a car, you climb into it. It has lots of grab handles and a stout steering wheel. When inside, it smells like work. If you have any sore muscles or hurt spots, riding over bumps with the truck’s heavy-duty suspension will remind you what hurts.

The weekend after I bought it, I drove it to Houston to meet up with my boys and my father. It was a man weekend, so I needed a man’s ride. It beat me to death, and cost me a savings account, but it was a hit with the guys.

It is a point of contention. When the Admiral and I are going anywhere, we will have this conversation:

“Let’s take the car,” she says.

“No, we’re going to the hardware store. We’re taking the truck.”

“The car is more comfortable.”

“You don’t go to the hardware store in a car, you take a truck.”

“Lots of people go to the hardware store in a car.”

“Only because they don’t have trucks.”

“Oh.”

When you have a work truck, you also discover new friends. Someone always wants to borrow it to haul, or tow something, which I don’t mind near as much as the friend who says, “Can you bring your truck and help me … ”

The Princesses love it too. Whenever we are working around the place, they take turns driving. They love the Thanksgiving tradition where all the kids pile in the back, and with me at the wheel, zoom down the driveway several times. They all go in the house smiling big and all say thank you, and some give me a hug, and I’m happy.

There’s just something about a truck.

David Wilson Atwood is a local freelance writer whose human-interest columns offer a unique perspective. He may be contacted at david@starchasers.us.