A Truck (and it's not a Toyota!)

It's big, green, old, loud, rusted and has been around my entire life.  It's a truck.  Not just any truck but my daddy's 1978 GMC Sierra Farm truck.  It's amazing.  It's any redneck's dream.  The rust and the exhaust system is amazing. As a kid I could hear when my daddy would turn off of Mary's Grove Church Rd (about half a mile up the road) coming home from a fire or watch it fly up the road with it's red light flashing going to a fire.  Or be excited to see him pick me up from school because riding in the truck was special.  I sat up high, I could see everything and it had those mini side windows that could be opened just a little to allow dust and air to blow in your face at first but then clear for a refreshing breeze.  Or riding in the back letting the wind blow through your hair.  Not to mention the hours sitting on the tail gate shucking corn.  But Saturday I was brought back to my favorite truck memory of all memories; loading up the truck and going to the dump.  I know what you're thinking.  What's so great going to the dump?  Well, let me explain.  There is a recycling bin (where you separate the cans, brown bottles, green bottles, clear class bottles, milk cartons, etc.. but now you can throw it all in one bin and not separate but that's beyond the point) and the entire process of throwing bags of trash into the bigger bin is fun!  Saturday morning my daddy comes driving up in the yard in Big Green.  Going to the dump!  So here we are... Daddy's driving and I'm in the passenger seat and suddenly I feel 10 again.  I feel like a little kid heading to the dump.  Not a care in the world, no worries, no problems, just going to the dump.  I was at a place where everyone I loved was still alive and nothing was out of reach.  One Truck.  It's old.  And sometimes it won't start.  I know this may sound crazy but... it's a part of me.