Getting trucking emotional

One of the things I love about motherhood are the new experiences that it brings to your life. I could talk here about love, laughter and the hilarious things that kids do... Instead, I'd like to talk about trucks.

I've never been what you'd call a 'girly' girl. I love my footy (if not, always, football players). I love my beer (oh yes, it's true). I only wear heels under sufferance. But I've never been a tomboy either. I drive a car because I have to, not because I love the beautiful sound of its V8 engine (or however many Vs my engine has). I don't put up shelves, because I am lucky enough to have The Builder to do that for me. And I've never, in my entire existence, been to a Truck Show.

Until today.

Mothers of boys find themselves doing all kinds of stuff outside the realms of previous experience. Like stopping in the main street to admire a Harley Davidson as it drives away (Mr3 is motorbike-mad - something I'll be trying hard to dissuade in the next 14 years or so). Like going to Light Rail museums. And Air Shows. And all manner of other machinery-related events.

Today's, the i98FM Camp Quality Convoy for Kids, held in a sport and recreation field about 40 minutes up the highway, featured hundreds of trucks. Enormous, gleaming vehicles with deep, loud horns. Lots of horns. When we arrived at the venue, shepherded through the gates by an army of SES volunteers, the convoy was just pulling in and the horns blew solidly for the next hour. Thirty minutes in, Mr6 turned to me and shouted, hands over ears, "We've probably had enough of the horns now Mum, don't you think?"

Probably. But I don't think anyone else was listening. Or could hear him over the horns.

Mr3 was in heaven. Not only was he surrounded by the aforementioned trucks, but we turned a corner and discovered several hundred motorbikes parked in the shadow of the sports centre. Then, oh joy of joys, a police helicopter arrived and, once it was opened up to visitors, he was able to, gasp, sit inside it. Throw in a jumping castle and his life was complete.

For a debut experience, the Truck Show was a good one. I am in awe of anyone who can reverse anything larger than a Range Rover in a straight line. My Dad and I were just talking in hushed tones the other morning about the impressive skill of the man who drives the local supermarket delivery truck and can back it into a narrow delivery dock, in a narrow street with cars parked on both sides of the road. All in under two minutes. Given that I've been known to have four attempts to get out of our driveway, I can only be impressed.

Reverse-parking aside, the sun was shining on row upon row of these behemoths of the road, which had been polished to perfection. The crowd was happy and taking part in something that was fun - and important. To understand that importance, I only had to look at the banners hung across many of the trucks. Memorial banners, featuring bright, young faces. Camp Quality is a charity for children with cancer and their families. These bright, young faces had lost their battles.

I've never, in my entire existence, felt emotional whilst staring at a truck.

Until today.

{image: Ryan's District}