When I was growing up I use to look up at a Man with a hat to the side of his head, as he would lean over my bed. He would then say to us boys, "obey your Mother and look out for one another".

The sound of that truck in the driveway in the morning even before day break, is still a memorable keep sake.

Those work shoes that were worn down to the side almost positioned like the blue service cap, am I such a sap, to remember this all?

The summers my brothers and I would fight to see who would sit next to him, oh!I wish we could do it all over again.

Looking up at him with sandwiches mom prepared between us and feeling this awesome trust that life was good and we were on this incredible journey with his hands on this enormous wheel of fortune stopping on places and open spaces.

I remember Truck Drivers with words I wasn't suppose to hear and I remember a man who drove me to places I still hold dear, the Camp Stops, the Convents, and Madison Square Garden too, and all the times I watched him in that side-view mirror with a bag on his shoulder, I still re-visit often as I've grown older.

Yes!, I remember a truck driver who could back a truck down narrow spaces in noon time hustle, and watch him disappear in buildings for what seemed like eternity, but still there's no other place I'd rather be.

I recall us crossing the George Washington Bridge and we were heading home, I would listen to him hum some nameless tune and feel the bumps of his truck at our adventures' end, I was a little sad, but oh! so glad, I had this experience of being a Truck Driver's Son.

Learn more about this author, Calvin Scott Bey.
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