Mother Trucker

I realize that I have not posted any stories about my mom on this ol’ blog thing. This is not because I don’t like my mom or that we don’t get along, I very much do and we certainly do.

Our family history, at least in my opinion, involves the comedic accidents which have happened to us over the years. The best stories involve a certain lack of common sense from an otherwise highly intelligent family member (you be the judge as to me; I judge the rest of my family as very intelligent, bordering on the diabolically brilliant). Added injury to the insult increases the laugh quotient exponentially.

Yet I’ve come to the conclusion that my mom is the straight-man in the comedy that is our family.

Diabolically, it’s because she downplays her own considerable intelligence. She doesn’t profess genius. If she makes a silly mistake, she’s set the bar a little lower so it doesn’t seem so ironically humorous. She doesn’t revel in her successes, so if she fails a bit now and then, there’s no schadenfreude for the rest of us. It’s simply no fun to pick on her.

Consider the following two family stories:

1) Mom

My mom drove a Ford Bronco SUV from the time by parents bought it new in 1978 to when she traded it in for a new Ford Explorer twenty years later. As a physically rather tiny woman she likes to ride up high so she can get a full view of the cars ahead of her and the cars ahead of them. She also appreciates not getting stuck when the snow is deep and the roads have not been plowed during the long Alaskan winters.

The only negative to driving a big SUV (don’t EVEN comment about Iraqi oil, we need 4X4 in the winter and we produce oil in Alaska) is that it’s big. Parking in a garage takes some planning so that the mirrors don’t smash against the sides of the garage doorframe and there is still enough room to park my dad’s car. I will always remember my parent’s garage as having a tennis ball dangling from the ceiling to guide the truck in.

Twice my mom backed her truck up into the garage door. The first time she didn’t wait until the door was completely up and clipped it. The second time she backed up while the door was completely closed. The only thing remotely funny about these mishaps was the way my dad describes the splinters of garage door that landed halfway down the driveway during my mom’s second not-so-great escape from the garage. Even my dad, however, has to admit that really she’s only hit the door once every ten years. In the same time she’s never had another vehicle accident that was her fault. She doesn’t profess to be a professional driver so there’s no real joy in pointing out that she hit the door.

On the other hand…

2) Dad

The Bronco was used to haul our three-wheelers on family outings to the Knik River area where there are a lot of ATV trails. Since the tailgate of the truck folded down, it was vulnerable while in the down position to being, oh I don’t know, run into several times by three-wheeler handle bars and banging down onto the jack section of the enormous trailer. Consequently it became fairly dented on the top of the tailgate.

My father had put himself through college (and two engineering degrees) working as an auto mechanic. Added to this, he can fix darn near anything. This is a given.

So Dad very carefully and painstakingly remolded and smoothed and repainted the tailgate. He’s so demanding of himself that when it wasn’t exactly true the first time, he reapplied the Bondo and remolded it again. The second time through it was absolutely true and perfect. While a marvelous piece of artistry and craft, the fact that it practically glowed with perfection was also somewhat of a given.

The very next time we prepared for three-wheeling he backed the Bronco up to the trailer and lowered the tongue of the trailer onto the Bronco’s hitch. The trailer itself was a huge flatbed with four-foot tall wooden side slats that were slid into the bed, forming four fence-like sides .

He pulled the trailer out from the side of the house in an effort to back it up into the driveway where we could get at it from all sides, removing the wooden sides if necessary and putting them back when we were done. He had pulled the trailer so that the Bronco’s front tires were on the street and he was creeping along slowly so that the trailer didn’t get jarred too much as the back tires of the truck traveled down the little dip of a gutter between our driveway and the street.

What none of us knew was that the trailer tongue was not seated on the trailer’s hitch but was just resting on top of the ball so that only a couple inches of metal around the tongue kept the trailer attached to the Bronco.

The scene: Dad is driving truck. I was in the garage with the door open. Jason and Drew (my brothers) were in various parts of the yard.

When the truck took that final dip and my dad applied the brakes, the trailer tongue jumped up above the ball and continued forward and down. The front wooden side of the trailer smashed against the top of the tailgate, putting a huge dent into the newly minted tailgate.

After the loud “thump,” my brothers and I stood in shocked silence as we soaked in the purest moment of the day. Then we scattered like rats from a sinking ship to meet in the house and howl with laughter. Then we all ran back outside to offer assistance and condolences. My father, muttering curses, suggested that it was best for everyone that we all just go away for a while. It was as simple as jacking up the trailer again to seat it firmly on the ball hitch of the truck and backing it up and he did not need our assistance nor did he want our assistance.

We all said versions of “okay Dad, let us know if we can help,” and walked briskly back into the house to debrief.

“Oh my God! That was the funniest thing I have ever seen” was what each of us said, or words to that effect. The beauty was that for once in, well in my case probably 18 years, something major was broken and neither I nor either of my brothers were in ANY WAY responsible for it. Ya-hoo!

~~

So while my mom hitting the garage door every ten years like clockwork is mentioned here and there, the story of when the trailer hit the newly fixed tailgate of the Bronco is a memory all three brothers cherish and love retelling to this day (as recently as two weeks ago when Jason was visiting).

Mom and Dad, I love you both very much.

Dad's just more amusing.
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Bronco pictures from www.projectbronco.com