Well my truck as a teenager was everything to me, as is to everyone who first starts driving. My dad had bought it brand new and never really took care of it was back in the peeling paint times and when I started driving, I bought it off him. It came with a 4.3 and was easily turned into a little hotrod truck. My dad was proud of me what I had done to it. At a hard time in his life, he asked me to pick him up for a ride home. Well, knowing he had some troubles in life with his wife, I took him home with no heat, two and a half hour drive, bumpy ride with a broken shoulder, and I dropped him off. I drove 45 minutes towards home for him to call me and tell me he needed the folder of papers on my Dash. I turned around and took them back. He then told me he did not care about the papers he just wanted to say I love you. The next day I tried to get ahold of him and no answer. The next day I tried to get ahold of him, no answer. So I called his work find out he hadn’t been there since that night. Then I went to his house to find that he had committed suicide that night. This is why my truck is so important and why I will always strive to keep it perfect for the rest of my life. Last time I saw my father alive was in that truck. That same truck you were so proud of me of building. And I will keep building it and building it and building it. I hope you like my story, even though I had a sad kind of twist. It’s the truth, and it’ll always be with me. Thanks for reading. David S.