Convoy

When I was a kid, the song “Convoy” came out. Even though it was a country novelty song, it was a hit with all of us kids. We would constantly sing it as we lined up in a row and pretended we were driving trucks. We did it with our bikes, our sleds, and in boxes in my basement. Suddenly we all wanted to be truck drivers. Of course, later in life, I kind of got my wish in the army as I put in nearly 100,000 miles in 8 years, but we didn’t have CB radios and I don’t think the chance to say “rubber ducky” came up very often.

Anyway, when my dad found out what we were up to, he put a few boxes on the basement floor (all big enough to fit us) and told us he made us a convoy. Our imaginations took over from there. The only time everything went wrong was when we stopped to fuel up…

In our basement was an extra refrigerator where my parents kept the soda and other snacks like cheese and dip for chips and so on. When we pretended to fuel up, we raided the fridge. My mom was not happy at the carnage we left and my dad had to disassemble the boxes and outside we went, boxes and all. It was probably for the best because the next time we stopped to fuel up, we just pretended to fuel up.

We did our best to talk like the truckers in the song, but what came out was a lot of childish gibberish that even we failed to understand at times. It kind of went like this:

DAZEODREW: 10-4 there Rubber Ducky!

OTHER KID: Wait, I thought you were Rubber Ducky?

DAZEODREW: Oh, yeah…who’re you again?

OTHER KID: Pig-Pen!

DAZEODREW: Haha-haah!

OTHER KID: What’s so funny?

DAZEODREW: Pig-Pen…haha-haah!

OTHER KID: It’s cause I’m hauling pigs!

DAZEODREW: Right! Haha-haah!

It went like that, over and over, again and again until the other kid got tired of it.

OTHER KID: That’s it! I’m hitting my super-booster and leaving you in the dust! (He jumped out of his box and began to move it ahead of mine).

DAZEODREW: No you’re not! (I kicked his box after jumping out of mine).

OTHER KID: Yes, I am! (Then he kicked my box).

DAZEODREW: But they’re my boxes!

It didn’t matter. We set out to kicking those boxes until they were unredeemable. We seemed to realize this at the same time.

DAZEODREW: Oh man! We ruined the boxes! Help me pick this up before my dad sees.

OTHER KID: Why should I help? They’re your boxes.

So much for that convoy. I started to comment about the massive wreck of two trucks on the highway and my friend stayed and helped me clean up after all. It was a good thing we had one extra box. We would’ve never been able to clean up our imaginary wreck without the tow truck!

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One comment

  1. Fun times, never had a box truck had a house with Windows and doors, or a least flaps for Windows and doors thanks for the memories.

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