I have always been a classic car and truck fanatic. Since the day I was born, my father has exposed me to all sorts of wonderful machines that have stood the test of time. Of course, these machines all ride on 4 wheels and have no less than 8 roaring cylinders stuffed underneath the hood. I’m 37 years old now and the addiction runs too deep to ever get rid of.
Sure, I’ve really liked the Mustangs, Camaros, Chargers, Challengers, Roadrunners, GTOs, and all that. But what really got me excited were the vehicles that not only looked fantastic with their shiny paint jobs, but had a “utility” factor included as well. I’m talking about the Chevy pickup trucks that hauled bales of hay on some far away farm land in 1965. The Chevy pickup trucks that rumbled along dirt roads in the middle of the winter of 1959, transporting calves back to the barn to thaw out frozen tails and ears.
Yes, it is the old 1950’s Chevy pickup trucks that I really have an affinity for. And, why not? Just look at a 1955 Chevy 3100 Short bed stepside, for example. How can you not feel a longing for the past when you pair it up next to a 2018 GMC 3/4 ton Sierra? Sure, the Sierra has Bluetooth, multiple zone air conditioning, remote start, a Duramax diesel, and looks like a fist flying down the road. But this is 2018. We have been spoiled. However, there is something about the mid 20th century that just screams “rugged.”
I Have Never Owned A Classic Chevy Pickup… Until Today
I am now almost middle age. Sure, some people still tell me that I am young, but, I can feel my age creeping up on me. I have more white hairs in my beard. I’ve got wrinkles. I have a harder time getting out of bed in the morning. But I am still young at heart.
My father is 71 years old and still works on his old Chevy trucks. He is a true motor-head. In his life, he has built and raced dozens of altered dragsters, rat rods, T-buckets, and project cars. Even after all of that, he still has a love for older Chevy pickup trucks. He even has 2 of them that he has completely restored. Well, he had 2 of them…
Today is my 38th birthday. Like most birthdays lately, it has just kind of creeped up on me and typically involves a couple of birthday hugs from my kids and my wife. I was served a scrambled egg and bacon breakfast. Fancy coffee, too. I then headed to my office to get to work for the day.
As I toiled away at my computer, I could tell that something was going to be different. My kids were whispering to their mom and then sly smiles would be directed to me. I swear, my family was actually trying to avoid me during some parts of the day. I chalked it up to a surprise that may have been planned later on.
Well, that surprise finally came. At about 4:00pm today, my wife opened the office door and told me that I needed to come out to the front yard. I saved my progress and followed my wife upstairs and out to the yard. As soon as I stepped outside, my jaw dropped. I was not expecting what I saw in front of my eyes.
There, before me, was a 1956 Chevy 3100 Short bed stepside pickup truck, brightly shining in the June sunlight. It was cherry red with shiny rims. The chrome trim and bumpers almost seemed like crystal clear water. Next to it stood my father, holding out a key chain with a single key on it. He said only three words.
“Happy birthday, son.”