My husband loves trucks. You may have gathered that from the way he speaks to me in his sleep. He is currently a driver manager for a trucking company. He oversees 92 semi-trucks and tracks them all across the country to make sure that things like onions, ketchup, and potatoes get to the store on time. He loves it. He doesn't drive the trucks ... just tracks them via GPS and computer ... but he wishes he did. One of his greatest dreams is for us to retire and go driving off into the sunset on an 18-wheeler together.
He's in logistics, the profession that moves the things all the other professions join together to make from point A and to point B. Right now that means he wears khakis and polo shirts to work and talks to semi-truck drivers all day. At some point it might mean wearing a suit and tie and coordinating million dollar shipments from one country in Asia to another country in Europe. At another it might mean putting on jeans and a t-shirt with a walkie-talkie strapped to his belt as he works in a refugee camp in Africa coordinating the shipment of goods and people with the Red Cross. As much as he loves his trucking dream, the Red Cross dream is probably is his favorite. And it's the conversation we had while dating about what we could do together in Africa/Europe/wherever with the Red Cross that started me down the path of falling in love with him.
When Dave was little, or so I'm told, his dad wanted to make a tape of him and his sister Genny talking to send back to his grandparents. They were living in New York City at the time -- a place full of magic for little kids. The conversation went something like this:
Dad: What's your favorite thing to do?
Genny: Color, play pretend, read stories. (I'm totally ad libbing for Genny here.)
Dave: I like cars, trucks, and moving vans.
Dad: What's your favorite part of New York?
Genny: The park.
Dave: I like to watch the cars, trucks, and moving vans.
Dad: How old are you?
Genny: Four.
Dave: I like cars, trucks, and moving vans.
Things haven't changed much in the last 26 years except that he's added trains to the list. Riding the train across the Wasatch Front to visit me was one of Dave's favorite parts of our courtship. When we pass an interesting truck on the freeway, Dave slows down to get a better look. He likes getting stuck behind railway crossings.
It was his birthday on Saturday. I couldn't get him a car, a train, a truck, or a moving van. But I can still hold out for Africa.
Happy Birthday, Dave!
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