Life as a trucker’s daughter: Part 1

Given the increase in media attention on accidents involving semi trucks, I have found myself in a difficult position. On online articles where comments are allowed, people are talking about how “scary” it is that truckers are called professional drivers, how truckers are bad drivers, and how truckers must always be held accountable in many situations. An ex-boyfriend of mine would always complain whenever he was driving behind a semi, whether it was a flat deck, a dry van, or a bobtail. All of the above has made me angry and upset.

So, in light of these events which have hit close to home for me, I will try to shed some light on life as a trucker’s daughter and hope more people understand that most truckers are good drivers, and good people. Keep in mind due to the need for privacy and security, exact details are not provided.

I remember when I was a small child, to me, my father was a stranger. He was on the road most of the time during that time, driving long haul, and when he came home, he would always have to reintroduce himself to me.  During that time he came home Christmas Eve, stayed for Christmas Day, and left Boxing Day. After that he and my mother decided that was enough and decided to quit long haul trucking. Growing up he did mostly overnight driving, some switch driving, and a little bit of long haul.

While I was growing up, during the overnight driving times, I had to be quiet enough at home so that my father could have his sleep. He’s a heavy sleeper, but all the same, he needed it.

When I was a preteen my father took me on one of his overnight trips during my spring break. I didn’t enjoy it that much, as I wasn’t a night owl at that time. I sat in the truck all day, listening to him snore, while chewing on some gum, drinking Coke, eating chips, or stepping out of the truck to tempt some geese with the chips.

In the years following when I became a teenager my father switched back to long haul. On my first long haul trip with my dad we went to San Francisco. We went through Nevada, and it was there I saw my first thermal ever. It was on this trip that I first realized how rude people are to truckers. Cutting us off, giving us the finger, honking their horn angrily at us, visibly cussing their heads off at us, not letting my dad change lanes, not letting my dad take a left turn across a roadway, following dangerously close… I was appalled.

Then when you go to a rest stop people can tell you’re a trucker (or their passenger) due to the smell of trucks getting into your clothes and hair (showers and washing machines are hard to come by when you’re a trucker); when they realize this, they are sure to cut you in line, give you nasty looks, and even whisper loudly about how annoying truckers are (getting in the way with their truck, driving too slow, etc.). I was glad to go home, and felt very sorry for my dad – he’s a great man, and yet people seem to go out of their way to make his job more difficult.

 

Stay tuned for part two…