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Sometime a single sound can bring back your past
3 years ago
ROOS. Yes, Roos. The more roos the better. Thicktails galore.
My father passed away about 3 years ago after an illness. He was an Air Force member, put on missions during the Vietnam War but only after his death did I learn he was in Cambodia doing something still not unclassified. Bit that doesn't matter.
To me, he was a truck driver. A Teamster. From job to job, the names on the doors changed, but he was the big man in the truck, moving freight and doing real work to my youthful eyes. He was my father, a hero to me. I wanted to be just like him.
And I did. I too became a truck driver, having been taught by the greatest teacher alive, my Dad. I hauled my Freightliner around doing my the work my father taught me. An accident involving a large photocopier falling down a flight of stairs and over me ended thar career, forcing me down a different path into IT. I don't regret that change, but I do miss sitting in that truck cab and becoming part of the great machine.
My father retired, lived well into his 80's, active until the end with trucking as a union advisor. I was there at his death bed as he lay there unconscious, artificial support the only thing tying him to this world. I knew his wishes. It was my nod to the doctor to turn it off and release my father to his next great highway adventure. I never got to say goodbye as he breathed his last.
That was several years ago. I just ran across this video, about the passing of the torch of a trucker to his son with a simple blast of an air horn.
For a moment, watching this video, my father was back, smiling abd nodding his encouragement. I was able to fully make peace with his passing.
I got to pull that air horn handle one last time.
Goodbye, Dad.
https://youtu.be/Jo5N0KoisR4
To me, he was a truck driver. A Teamster. From job to job, the names on the doors changed, but he was the big man in the truck, moving freight and doing real work to my youthful eyes. He was my father, a hero to me. I wanted to be just like him.
And I did. I too became a truck driver, having been taught by the greatest teacher alive, my Dad. I hauled my Freightliner around doing my the work my father taught me. An accident involving a large photocopier falling down a flight of stairs and over me ended thar career, forcing me down a different path into IT. I don't regret that change, but I do miss sitting in that truck cab and becoming part of the great machine.
My father retired, lived well into his 80's, active until the end with trucking as a union advisor. I was there at his death bed as he lay there unconscious, artificial support the only thing tying him to this world. I knew his wishes. It was my nod to the doctor to turn it off and release my father to his next great highway adventure. I never got to say goodbye as he breathed his last.
That was several years ago. I just ran across this video, about the passing of the torch of a trucker to his son with a simple blast of an air horn.
For a moment, watching this video, my father was back, smiling abd nodding his encouragement. I was able to fully make peace with his passing.
I got to pull that air horn handle one last time.
Goodbye, Dad.
https://youtu.be/Jo5N0KoisR4
A friend was on the same assignment in Cambodia around the same time. From time to time, even into the 1990s, large, black Ford sedans would pull up to his house unannounced and he would accompany the men in dark suits to... call it inspect the dog kennels. He was still being debriefed. I knew I was not to ask because he could not, would not answer.
Good honk
Vix
- Kan
Rochndil, who still comes across things he wanted to tell the ol' SOB about...
Necco is back sort of. There was a fire at the plant that knocked it out for several years. Same company made the Valentine heart candies. I do love Necco wafers as a travel snack.
Safe travels, friend, and watch out for gators in the road.
I am that far removed from what you just described.
But when I watched the animated short, I had the exact same reaction.
It's called empathy. And if you've got it, you're doing good.
Sad but true: The truest measure of one's goodness is their capacity to just randomly feel like total shit once in a while.
We both shed a tear for a cartoon gazelle. That means the soul is still running as it should.
Also saw that same video on FPS recently.