The things you give up to be a daddy

Sleep, money, and the hanky-panky, but those things aren't the subject of this post. What Danny is giving up on to be a good daddy (and, incidentally, pay off the remainder of our house remodel) is his truck. His 1958 black ford pick-up that is his one holdover from his bachelor days, back when he had nothing better to do than bring a case of Olympias out to the driveway and tinker away on his project car.  In the early days of our friendship, Danny would drive me home in the mornings from Sunnyvale (where he lived with my ex-boyfriend) because the Congresswoman's office where he worked was right down the street from Box of Rain, my hippie co-op house. We would inevitably get into some argument about the utility of the ivory tower (or something equally obtuse) on the highway over the roar of the '58 engine and have to shout at each other not just because we were impassioned but just to be heard. The truck died while we were joyriding it around the neighborhood on one of its first test drives, and I got to steer it home while Danny and two of his housemates ran behind pushing, until one of them tripped and somehow got dragged behind for a bit, taking most of the skin off his leg. It was funnier than it sounds. Those are my memories of the truck. Danny has many more. Jack has far fewer, but still has managed to compile a few, and lets me know every time we walk by it: "Mommy! Truck! Daddy push! Push the truck!" He got to sit in the cab as we pushed it out of the backyard into the front of the driveway back in October and hasn't stopped talking about it since.



This morning he had some other things to tell us about the truck, though.

(Click for video)

If you can't understand what he's trying to say at the end, after I stop talking back to him, don't worry, neither could I. That's why I stopped talking. That's how a lot of our conversations go these days. I can hang for a while, but eventually he leaves me behind.

But the truck has worn out its welcome. Too expensive to maintain, too time-consuming for a father of (about to be) two, Danny's old truck is going to be sold. Right after we can find a buyer. Turns out that's a more difficult task than you might imagine, primarily because the truck doesn't run right now. It's been on the market for over two months now and no takers. So Danny is spending the day trying to fix it, which is exactly why he wanted to sell it in the first place, because he didn't have the time to do that. Such is life. At least he gets one last hurrah with the truck.