Something about eighteen-wheelers makes me smile.
I don’t get nervous driving on the interstate with them. I always let them merge in front of me when everyone else is desperate to not get stuck behind them. I know better than to drive in their blind spot or to follow too close.
I know to beware of the ones my dad calls “two blinkers”…those who put their directional on, let it blink twice, and then change lanes regardless of who is in the way.
I’ve had my share of meals at truck stops.
I was the only seven year old who knew all the words to On the Road Again, Eighteen Wheels and a Dozen Roses and a multitude of other songs that no one else my age had ever heard of.
My dad’s handle was Mr. Clean and I would love to listen to all of the other truckers on the CB.
I’m familiar with the terms…road gator, Smokey and bobtail. (Go ahead and look them up…I’ll wait.)
Too many times to count, I stood in my front yard and watched him drive away.
Our family photo albums are full of pictures of trucks…that just happen to have my brother and I standing in front of them.
I’m thankful that my dad’s free spirit hasn’t gone away over the years…
Yes, we are a free spirited people.
Like Pa…like granddaughter…