This essay was published in Ann Landers in 1993. It was signed by "A Proud Son in Carson City, Nev."

The One Behind the Wheel

Truckers are found on highways, in truck stops, in service bays, on loading docks, on bush roads and at fuel stops. Often they are the first at the scene of an accident.

Their wives help them. Little boys follow them. Relatives don't understand them. Weather can delay them. But nothing can stop them.

A trucker is a paradox. He is a blue-jeaned executive with his office in the cab. He is a scientist who hauls dangerous chemicals and explosives; a purchasing agent in a baseball cap; a personnel director with grease under his fingernails; a poor eater with a fondness for burgers and fries; a student of geography and a weather watcher who reads the clouds for rain or snow.

He likes sunshine, children, smooth pavement, good traction, clean loads, dinner at home, weekends wtih his family, his shirt collar unbuttoned and country music. And there is a special place in his heart for his rig.

He's not too fond of city traffic, tourists who are rotten drivers, fuel prices, dispatchers, snarly recievers, kids in high-powered cars or drunken drivers.

Nobody else gets as much satisfaction out of talking about trucks, truckers, gear shifting, good weather, homemade pie, strong hot coffee, kids, wives, sweethearts and the price of diesel.

He is your friend and your customer. He is your source of food, building products, clothing, petroleum, natural resources--in fact, nearly everything in your life arrived in his truck.

And when he comes home late at night after a long and tiring trip, the energy sapped from his hopes and dreams, he can be lifted up once more by those magic words--"Daddy's home!"

Posted on the internet by a proud wife in Kansas City, MO.

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