There were stories for every reason under the sun. We heard stories of how Peterbilt trucks came about, why the blue reflector lights were in certain places next to the fire hydrants in town and where he put them , how he met Jimmy Hoffa during a Teamsters meeting in Detroit, during the steel strikes in the ’70’s and lived to tell about it. We happen to hear about so many stories I can’t even begin to tell ya.
I have a photo of my ex and my dad standing in a parking lot with Mr. Ex watching and listenening to him explain lord only knows what. Bless him, he was wonderful when it came to all ears on full alert. Fortunately he wasn’t like me, he could remember what he said verbatium, I could not. I remember being so impatient at times, I’d liketadied listening to this and that about who and whatever, I’d give my left elbow and a sock or two in cold weather to have those moments back. I still don’t know if I could repeat everything but I do know I’d be all the wiser and a tank filled to the brim in anything you wanted to know. Those were the wonderful years and it pays to take your head out of the sky and your thumb outta your ears, sit up and pay attention because no matter how bone dead dog tired you are or how many times you have heard “that story”, just listen one more time. It could be the last. The time when they cease to exist and your insides ache and the boot is pulled out for a good kicking.
Just remember. Listen.
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