If you want to be reminded how life is a journey and not a destination, rent a truck with a seven-year-old boy.
Nathan’s taking piano lessons. Uncle Donny was getting rid of an old piano. I said we’d take it. An hour later, a massive truck pulls up to our house. Nathan and Barry inside. Nathan is bouncing. He looks like cotton candy.
The truck is a big open 16 foot stakebed truck with a lift gate. We could move 20 pianos. Easily. In one load. This truck is Nathan’s dream come true.
We go get the piano. Loading is hard. Guess what, pianos are heavy and awkward. I haven’t felt this heavy and awkward since 8th grade. Nathan stands directly in the way. We get the thing loaded after breaking a few wheels. At home, we have two burly friends come and help unload it. It’s like Caveman Olympics. Pick up heavy rock. Roll here. Lift. Groan. Have cold Coke. Squat on ground. Rearrange tools.
The piano is happily inside. There will be fresh music. Nathan cries. Can’t we keep the truck?
The piano will serve him well. The lessons will carry him into adulthood. But the piano matters least of all. At night he’ll be dreaming of big, flat windows, a gear shift, wooden slats, a lift gate, the beep beep beeping of backwards. The piano was the prize. The prize had nothing to do with any of the joy. The transportation was everything.
