My Little Red Truck

A week before our family of six moved from Southern California to the Santa Cruz Mountains, I bought a very basic 1994 red Mazda pickup from a police officer in Pasadena.

And here’s what I mean by very basic: manual transmission, no power steering, no power locks or windows, no backup camera, no cup holder, audio that gets one AM station and plays cassette tapes, two doors, with a six-foot bed. And oh yeah, the gas gauge hasn’t worked for decades…who needs a gas gauge when the odometer tells you how far you’ve driven?

I know these truck features well since I’m still driving it almost three decades later. As my brother-in-law Loren would ask, “Wes, are you bragging or complaining?”

The first time our brother-in-law Dan laid eyes on my first (and only) truck, he blurted out, “You call that a truck?!”

Our oldest grandson Ethan, finally old enough to sit in a vehicle’s front seat, had never been in a car or truck where you had to hand-crank the windows. “Papa, how do you open the windows?”

During Covid, twin two-year-old boys living up a steep hill a couple blocks away decided my little red truck would become their daily pilgrimage destination. Who knew my truck would engender such wonder, fascination and affection?

To those of you who faithfully swap out your vehicles every two to four years, no judgment here. Yes, your new vehicle enhancements are enticing, and vehicle shopping patterns like mine would kill our economy. Admittedly, I can be frugal to a fault.

Sometimes my truck will sit idle for long stretches, so I deserve no accolades as an amazing steward of this long-term blessing. But for those times when we need a second vehicle or a truck bed, this little red truck has come through.

Stepping into this twentieth century time warp has a special quality. Probably not the same as a vintage car, but special, nonetheless. It’s paid for, has liability-only insurance and has required relatively low maintenance. No power steering creates an upper body workout—it’s like a free gym membership every time you back out of a parking spot!

My little red truck reminds me of unsung heroes—dependable older people without glitz, glamor or attachment to the latest tech advances. Some might view them as useless relics from the past or as immigrants who failed to learn the language of their new culture.

But these are content people who make the best of what they have, without always yearning for more. People who show up and respond to the needs of others, sometimes to their own detriment.

People who are old but still young enough to serve. People whose selflessness touches you to the core.

God knows this world can still benefit from dependable, high-mileage little red trucks.