It was circa 2003 when I overheard my grandpa tell my mom he got a new truck. A truck had always been my dream vehicle, so I quickly (partially facetiously, mostly serious) told him I have dibs on his truck when he was done with it. He agreed and it became our thing. I would gleefully remind all my cousins how I was the one who was getting grandpas truck. Every time we talked or visited, he would tell me how he was taking care of “my truck” for me.
One day, around 2008, the time came where Grandpa couldn’t drive anymore. And the big moment was rapidly approaching when I would finally get the truck! Both he and Grandma thought it would instill responsibility and appreciation if I bought the truck instead of them just giving it to me. Which was totally fair. We agreed I would make monthly payments to them. The only thing that wasn’t agreed on was the price. Grandma wanted to have me pay closer to the blue book value, and Grandpa (with ever the soft spot for his favorite California granddaughter) was targeting much lower. Due to some failing health, some of his cognitive function was declining, and Grandma kept saying how he probably wasn’t fully aware of all the dealings.
Then one day my mom handed me the phone and said Grandpa wanted to talk to me. It wasn’t very common for my grandpa to call on the phone, especially those days, and especially to talk to me. He said, in his jovial and matter-of-fact voice, “Suzy, Grandma just left so I only have a little bit of time to talk. I’m in my right mind and I want you to know that it’s my choice and I want to sell it to you for $****. So if Grandma gets on your case, you just tell her we had a prior agreement.”
So that was that.
I went to Arizona to pick it up. Grandpa and I did a title transfer and he gave me some talks about taking care of it. Very adult stuff. Then my cousin Tyler drove it home with me.
I’ve always been into naming vehicles. I think it’s cute. But I couldn’t decide what to name the truck. So I had a few options and put it to a family vote. I don’t remember some of the other choices. But the outcome was:
Oh come on...you should know this. Anyone who has known me very well for any significant length of time should know it, anyway ;)
But for those of you who might not know...He was dubbed—Simon.
Simon and I were a unit. We came together and we were known together. Everyone used his name, and he became a pretty well-known character. Shortly after I got him, my cousin Jonathan got a temporary tattoo of a spider from a vending machine. Since he knows how much I LOVE spiders (<— read sarcasm), he thought it would be funny to apply it to the back of Simon. Little did he know that it would take close to 10 years for that tattoo to fade. And it too became a defining characteristic, catching everyone’s eye.
During college, he got in at the tail end of my time at Cal Poly. He helped move me to Biola. He saw me on the drive to and from Mimi’s Cafe in Downey. He faithfully carted me from Biola, home to Pasadena every weekend. He was broken into and got $300 of my tip cash stolen out. He heard laughter and bumped the tunes as me and my friends made treks to the beach.
My cousin Jacob and I got into a scary collision that busted up Simon’s bed. It was within a few feet of hitting Jacob’s door and could have been much worse.
And then he was the constant companion on an epic road trip across the country with two friends. Colorado mountains, Wyoming rodeo, stretches of cornfields.
When the time came to move to Minnesota, my mom and I packed him totally full of all my earthly possessions. We took off across the country again. I never expected that to be the last time Simon would see California, but it was.
He served me well during the cold winters with the 4-wheel Drive feature coming in handy with snow and ice. I always felt safe.
I got my dog Sierra a few months after I moved to Minnesota-- and then we were three. We went everywhere together. She rode up front with me or in the bed. There would be nights I couldn’t leave her in my loft, so I put her in Simon’s bed, put down the cover and she stayed in there during my shifts at work. (Don’t worry, it wasn’t airtight and she had food and water and a blanket).
Fast forward a few years to 2014. I got married. Ben’s truck was rusting out the bottom, we bought my brothers car and Ben ended up driving Simon. For the last 5 years, he has been Simon’s main driver.
Simon was always the reliable truck, ready to haul anything (my most favorite being the flowers Ben brought home from work for our yard!)
And just a few weeks ago, he began to notice some weird noises. He took Simon in for a check up and found lots of repairs needed—upwards of $5K...$3700 just to make it safe to continue driving. Since we had been hoping to get a van next year, we decided not to put all the money into fixing it and just move up our timeline to get a van.
I’ll be honest, I wasn’t that emotional when we decided to sell or donate him. Maybe it was because it had been so long since I had consistently driven him. Maybe because all the memories and times we had together feel like a lifetime ago. But tonight as Ben was leaving to meet a buyer, he said a prayer and I felt choked up.
This is the last major tangible connection to my grandpa. So many years building memories where this truck played a significant facilitating role. All the roads traveled, conversations practiced, tears cried, prayers prayed, secrets told, hugs up against, deep talks had, yummy food eaten, amazing music played... all of it took place with this one inanimate object that has come to mean so much.
I didn’t say a formal goodbye. Ben dropped it off to get checked out and it has been at the mechanic ever since. (This was first written a while ago-it has now sold) It feels silly even writing that. Vehicles don’t need formal goodbyes. But this was more than just a truck to get me front Point A to Point B.
So I’ll say a little goodbye here.
From the deserts of Arizona to the great frozen North, Simon, you’ve been a heck of a truck, and my 20s are forever marked by memories created with you. And thanks to my Grandpa who had no idea how much of an impact a vehicle would make in my life.
Au Revoir.
