Objects have, of course, held special places in my heart. The teddy bear I got when I was 2 certainly did. I knew things became important to us as we shared experiences with them, but I always thought of them as inanimate objects to be acted upon and nothing more. As we discussed this topic in class, and particularly when I read Ode to Things I realized that they can become much more. As time progresses and we open our hearts to these special artifacts the fact is that they also have an effect on us. This is the case with my object. It may be a lifeless piece of metal, but it evoke emotion and even action from those who come in contact with it. As I wrote I was continually reminded of the movie Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants. In the same way, a pair of jeans manages to effects several different people in different ways because each of them had a different experience with them. The object then ceases to be a mere artifact and becomes a symbol of something much more.
The Old 88' Toyota Pickup
After getting married to my beautiful wife, Yasuko, on the island of Oahu, we were making plans for the future. She had just graduated not two days before our wedding, and I had already been accepted to transfer to BYU Provo. The logistics were going to be a little trying but we were optimistic of our future. As I was discussing plans with my mother over Skype one day, she asked what we planned on doing about a set of wheels. I told her that we would look for a cheap used car like most college students do once we got the Provo. She told me that Grandpa was seriously thinking about giving his old pickup to one of his grand children and that I should bring it up with him. I felt uneasy saying, "hey gramps! I hear you want to pawn off your junk seeing as you are getting pretty old... I'll take your truck!" That just didn't sound right to me. No matter how I rehearsed it in my mind that's how it sounded to me. Eventually I got up the courage and talked to him about it. I guess my mom beat me to the punch because he seemed ready for the conversation. He was ready to give it up. It was wonderful seeing my grandparents again. We spent a week with them exploring the nearby beauties of Washington, helping around the house, and playing cards. That week was also like going back to drivers-ed. I had to prove that I could drive Grandpa's precious truck. The task wasn't easy either. I had very limited experience with a manual transmission and what was more, it lacked power steering, power windows, and ac. Grandpa was the drill instructor and I was the lowly private as I tried to maneuver the vehicle that was older than I. toward the end of our time there I was starting to get the hang of things. Grandpa's backseat driving slowly faded out, and a strange sadness started creeping in. I could tell that he had a lot of memories invested in that heap of metal. He told me that every single scratch, dent, and ding had a story of one of his children behind it. Little did I know that when I accepted that truck that I was also entering a very select group. Grandpa had put $500 into fixing it up since it had been sitting in the garage forever. To avoid extra paperwork and sales tax, and out of the generosity of his heart, he gave the truck to me for free, marked it as a gift on the title papers, and had me pay for the repairs only.
It was time to leave. I said goodbye to my grandparents while grandpa said goodbye to his grandson, new granddaughter-in-law, and his old trusted companion. Before we left he told us the story of how he came about buying it. Apparently the man that sold it to him was a recently returned missionary who had married a Japanese woman. It was their first vehicle but they decided that they were going to live in Japan so the vehicle had to be sold. Grandpa then said, "looks like the pickup is going back to its roots." I happened to be in that exact same situation in life. Grandpa was right. This old machine seems to have a mystical power of nostalgia surrounding it. Everywhere I take it it seems to effect people. Any of my aunts or uncles that see it instantly tells me of the journeys they had with it. Even complete strangers fall under its power. Once I was waiting for a stop light to turn green when a guy pulled up right next to me and tapped on my passenger side window. He yelled out "Hey man! What year is this thing?" I told him it was the 88' model. He excitedly responded, "I'll give you $1,000 for her right now!" I was shocked that he would make such on offer to what I thought was an old and tired little pickup. We pulled over to talk about it and he explained that he had the exact same truck in high school for his first vehicle and it held some precious memories for him as well. I thought about the offer and that it would be a huge profit for me, seeing as I only spent $500 on it myself, but the image of my Grandpa's sad face as he watched me drive off with it kept coming into my mind. I explained the sentimental value it held for me and refused his offer. He understood, but continued to rave about the truck. He was a grease monkey by profession and thus knew the truck inside and out. He told me that the 88' Toyota pickup engine was famed as the motor that never quits. I had no clue, although I had to admit it had treated me quite well for the several thousand miles I had already driven it. My wife and I have already had many adventures of our own in that beautiful piece of machinery. The only problem we have had with her was a flat on the way back from a Vegas trip last summer. I suppose it was the first time the truck had ever used the spare. When the roadside assistance mechanic came to help us out he lowered the spare and revealed what looked like an ancient fossil. So thick was the dust and dirt that it appeared to not consist of any rubber at all. The mechanic laughed and said that he had not seen this model of tire in at least 2 decades. He was over taken with the mysterious aura of nostalgia as well and began regaling us with stories of his younger driver years.
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| Wife and I camping in the Uintah Mountains with the pickup |
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