A disadvantage of having your Dad killed by a tired trucker who worked for a very large national trucking line is that you see their trucks everywhere. I rarely make my daily 100 mile round trip to Ann Arbor without seeing at least one of these brightly colored trucks each way. Usually I see more. In the days and weeks after the crash catching a glimpse of one of these trucks caused a knife sharp pain to radiate through my body. Now, a little more than three years later, I don’t feel such deep pain, but they never fail to remind me of who I lost. And I am always saddened.

So it was a nice surpirse this morning on my way to Ann Arbor, and again on my way headed north about two hours later, to see a State Trooper in an SUV on the side of the road behind a semi truck. Apparently they are stopping trucks, maybe random inspections, maybe for cause. Either way, I’m glad to see some evidence of someone keeping an eye on trucks moving through our state. I wanted to stop and give the trooper a big thumbs up, but figured that would appear pretty weird to a cop.

And on the radio on my trip home a song caught my ear. Dad wasn’t born a farmer or in a small southern town, but he lived in the south, in small towns, for almost 25 years. I think he would have been proud to be considered a “Small Town Southern Man.” Partial lyrics from the Alan Jackson song are below:

And he bowed his head to Jesus
And he stood for Uncle Sam
And he only loved one woman
(He) was proud of what he had
He said his greatest contribution
Is the ones you leave behind
Raised on the ways and gentle kindness
Of a small town Southern man
Finally death came callin’
For this small town Southern man
He said it’s alright ’cause I see angels
And they got me by the hand
Don’t you cry, and don’t you worry
I’m blessed, and I know I am
‘Cause God has a place in Heaven
For a small town Southern man