The Last Best Swindle Royal Flush

Gregory Bodenhamer Ph.D. Nollijy University PeopleNology



PeopleNology for Truck Drivers

Living alone on the road, all the good news must come from far way, like ice cold water to the thirsty, truck drivers bring us everything we need. To all the truck drivers that were born in the 40’s, 50’s and 60’s it’s almost time to get a little extra sleep, a folding of the hands, like a kiss of friendship, you’re almost home.

Every mile a piece of work, no sham on pay day all the parts of the work were genuine, honest drivers made from the past. We survived being born of mothers who smoked or drank while they carried us into the world. The mother’s of truck drivers took aspirin and ate blue cheese dressing, tuna from a can and were never tested for diabetes. We ate our meals from honest kitchen furniture and we watched our fathers break down walls, trusting their message to us would be the wood for the fire.

Pride and craftsmanship seem to be repetitious as we follow the teaching of our parents, good advice at times lonely, trustworthy messengers we call our friends seem to visit us on the road, never wearing out their welcome even when we’re all alone.

After the trauma of growing up in baby cribs covered with bright lead based paints we were taught about foolish arguments, guiding a horse with a whip and to never yank on a dogs ear. Always in that front seat with us, that lofty place that puts us in charge, some deep happiness comes to us running on-time, everybody concerned but you as we have befriended the clock many hours ago. Angry people at times surround you, hot-tempered people endanger your soul but, remembering the past to always guarantee another mans load.

We know how great service sparkles in the cup, smoothly we handle the loss of a child’s doll and the kings truck. The truck wears and clock tics intimately connected to our past with no childproof lids on medicine bottles, no helmets when we rode our bikes, not even to mention the risks we took when hitchhiking.

Our parents built the strongest houses, not to crumble to ruin when things got hard. We learned those lessons as children, we could ride in cars without seat belts or air bags, block parties with neighbors and friends, crazy things never happened to us no friends tossed into the sea. My youth riding in the back of a pick up truck on a warm day was always a special treat, drinking water from a garden hose and not from a bottle from the store. We shared one soft drink with four of our friends, golden apples from a single tree, stone to slingshot it was never about me.

The youth in trucking, all about town thinking they are wise, dispatchers swing back and forth on their young hinges, always joking and damaging lies all about town. Their dainty morsels are never pleasant words, they’re deceiving us pretending to be kind, their wrongdoing almost never exposed, their tongues never still.

As you and I ate cupcakes, white bread and real butter and drank our soda pop with real sugar we did not gain the weight of torment, fantasies of games in a box, poverty or shame to our parents. Driving the Kings truck, answering to critics, guaranteeing some strangers debt, a loud and cheerful greeting from my annoyed wife as she listened to the constant dripping of children on their rainy day. We’re told to protect the owners interests and the rewards will be ours, all of us to share the fruit but I cannot see the owners face reflected in the water. Flocks of drivers keep looking for the truth, separate fools going their own way, silver and gold are always promised but no real heart caring for the men.

Remember as children we would leave home in the morning and play all day, as long as we’re back when the streetlights came on we’re o.k.? The companies riches don’t last forever, no crown to be passed to the next man in line, we’re the ones that make sure enough milk is on hand for your family and little girls at school. Just like long ago no one can reach us all day and night but we succeed and everyone is glad.

Let’s show our grandchildren, we could spend hours building our go-carts out of scraps of wood, rolling them faster and faster down the hill, only to find out that we forgot the brakes again. After running into the bushes, not quite to the grave maybe they could learn how to solve problems, never to steal from their father or mother, knowing what’s wrong, telling them about pounding rain that can destroy the crops.

If we give them our past they will lack nothing, no video games can replace the father, no movies, surround sound or cell phone can suddenly teach them what their looking for in chat rooms or other stubborn places. Remember we went outside and found all our friends, we fell out of trees, we broke bones and cut fingers and never a lawsuit to cause fighting. As the truck gives you stability and as you feel the road always remember home, closer by the mile.

Gregory Bodenhamer Ph.D. Nollijy University PeopleNology

Category: General