An oldie but a goodie

On Christmas morning, when children open their presents, they do so with a pent up enthusiasm that only children can feel after weeks of budding anticipation. They rip open the shiny, decorative paper, without any thought to how long it took mom and dad... um i mean Santa... to wrap them and arrange the bows. Their eyes bug out of their heads along with a high pitch squeal only dogs can hear. When the festivities are over, they latch on to one perfect gift which gives them joy unlike nothing else they've ever known. They eat with it, sleep with it, tell all their friends about it. I've witnessed this behavior firsthand on a few occasions, even engaged in it myself once upon a time. But as adults, we often find ourselves unable to recapture that uninhibited joy children come by naturally.

Unless, while we're meandering through the monotony of adulthood, we're presented with that one special gift that makes our insides gooey and our eyes light up like nightlights.

Recently Adam was presented with a gift that brought him back to childhood and pulled out his inner giddyness. What was this amazing gift you ask? A PS3? A new flat screen TV? As nice, and expensive, as those things are they are not nearly as endearing as what Adam has gotten his hands on.

A 1989, faded red, Chevy Silverado sat in our driveway as Adam raced home faster than usual. When he pulled into the driveway and laid eyes on the vehicle once owned by his late father, an emotion washed over him that no present at Christmastime could provide a child. Or myself, for that matter. I can only stand on the outside and try to understand how a truck, that has seen better days, could possibly make one person feel like they've just seen Heaven.

Maybe if I had lost someone as close to me as Adam's father was to him, I'd get the full grasp of what owning their vehicle after all this time would mean to me. As it is, I can only provide an outsiders perspective to this heart-warming event that Adam has been so impatiently awaiting.

When it finally came, Adam gazed upon his new vehicle as if he could actually see his father sitting in the driver's seat like he had before he died. In fact, the driver's seat still bears the imprint of Ernie's backside from years of being lovingly driven. Every weekend since it's arrival, Adam spends his Saturdays polishing the engine or driving it around like the proud papa he is. Even Hannah has developed an attachment to the worn vehicle, having affectionately dubbed the car "Old Red."

I wanted to name the truck "Mater" but was overrulled on that one.

Some of you may be thinking, "an old, beat up truck? eh, no thank you I'd rather have a brand, spanking new car." But for Adam, becoming the new owner of the truck that his father drove off the Chevy lot 20 years ago means more to him than any brand-new, tricked out truck.

Maybe it's the butt imprint, or placing his hands on the same steering wheel that his father touched. Or maybe it's palming the same, tarnished keys that once sat in the palm of Ernie's hands. I don't know. I'm going to go out on a limb here and say it's not any one thing that has made this such a high point in Adam's life. To be honest, I'm not sure its anything that I can put into words. Having never lost a person who was a pillar of strength in my life, I can only step back and see the wonder that crosses my husband's face whenever lays eyes on his cherished new truck. Or when he turns the keys and the engine's deep growl fills the air of our quiet neighborhood. And maybe i can't fully grasp what goes through Adam when he sees the truck. But I can imagine his father, up in Heaven, watching his son so tenderly taking care of the truck as it deserves to be taken care of. And hope that Ernie sees how much joy this has brought to Adam's life. And be proud.

I like to think he is.













until next time...