Big Red

Daddy’s Rig

Big Red was Daddy’s rig: an almost new Kenworth Special Edition big rig with leather seats, new CB, brand new 8-track player, and best of all, a full-size sleeper cabin that allowed Daddy to rest when on the road. Mama’s view on Big Red was that it took Daddy away from home too much. Not a week went by that Mama didn’t beg Daddy to find a job in town so they could build up some credit, maybe save enough money for a down payment on a house they could call their own. She dreamed of being able to plant a garden in a yard and paint the walls peach. But driving was all Daddy knew, and to him, Big Red was his salvation from working for someone else. Mama said it just took discipline and Daddy was just being lazy and stubborn. When we reminisce these days, Mama takes back the lazy and stubborn and thinks instead that Daddy was just running from the stern and controlling upbringing he received from his own father. I can’t know, but for me and my brother, Big Red meant opportunities to see all those names on our Dad’s Rand McNally map and a chance to be in the presence of our hero father.

Daddy drove Big Red from our home in Hattiesburg, Mississippi to every state on the map save for Alaska and Hawaii. He would often bring home whatever “didn’t make the cut” home to the family. As kids, we just accepted the gifts from our smiling father; his eyes lit up in joy watching our excitement. Mama held back her feelings and asked a lot of questions that Daddy explained or diverted or laughed off until Mama gave up and joined in the fun. Of all the gifts my dad came home with, our favorite load was foam rubber, the kind you would find in sturdy sofa cushions. Daddy would always save some of the unusual shapes and colors for us kids. We would pile them up on the floor to make a fort or toss the, around in a massive pillow fight. Mama was more constructive and used the scraps from her sewing bag to cover some of the better pieces of foam for pillows. Daddy brought home so many pieces of foam rubber over the years, Mama was able to have decorative pillows for every couch and every bed for all four seasons and even special occasions.

Three times a year Daddy took on a delivery job from a moving company. He always managed to bring us something unexpected after those trips. One year, he presented me with my very own vanity: a pale, yellow pine dream of a dresser with gold flecks all over. The mirror fanned out in a heart shape and a small matching tufted stool covered in a shiny rich embroidered material fit neatly under the mirror. That same year my brother received a camping set, complete with a pop-up tent, sleeping bag, lantern, moose-hide canteen, and aluminum cooking utensils. Of course, Mama always got something, usually a beautiful new dress or a nice pair of shoes. We certainly could never afford these items on our own, so when Daddy brought them home, it felt like Christmas or a lottery win. When my mother would question how he got these treasures, he would say he just showed the owners pictures of his beautiful wife and sweet babies, and they would load him up with gifts. One thing Mama and us kids knew from experience; Daddy could charm the scales off a rattlesnake. Years later, after Daddy had stopped going across the countryside in Big Red, when money got tight, and my parents had to move north, Daddy had to sell off most of our belongings because we couldn’t afford the moving expense. The treasured yellow pine dresser “didn’t make the cut” and I cried over that loss because it was the most beautiful and only thing I had ever owned. Daddy’s status in my hero-worshipping mind slipped a bit after that.

Growing up with a truck driving father had its perks; we saw a lot of the countryside in America, met people from all walks of life, learned a thing or two about gears and truck maintenance, and spent quality time with our dad. But life on the road was hard, both mentally and physically. Lack of sleep or proper exercise, poor diet, and a 2-pack a day cigarette habit finally took its toll on my father. He suffered a massive heart attack at 48 years old. My brother and I have now outlived the age of our father, and with kids of our own understand the sacrifices he made to support us. I came to realize that my hero was just a man; Daddy was just a man trying to survive and keep his family safe and fed. Big Red was just a truck, but it represented a man who was fiercely independent, beautiful to look at, tough and stubborn and caring and kind, and full of a charisma that attracted attention everywhere he went. I miss them both.