My mama calls it “piddlin’ around,” but I disagree. Is it alright to disagree with mama?

I looked up the word “piddle.” The official Webster’s Dictionary definition of “piddle” is to spend time aimlessly. Further, “piddling” is beneath consideration says Mr. Webster. According to the dictionary, what I am doing is spending my time aimlessly and it is beneath consideration. Not true.

Most of you know that daddy died in October of last year and one of his earthly possessions, left behind obviously, was a pick-up truck. I mean, we all know that he didn’t drive the pick-up to heaven.

At first, the consensus of the family was to sell it. It was a 2005 Dodge Dakota and could be said to have seen its better days. It had 105 thousand miles on it, the extended doors wouldn’t open, the front windshield was cracked right down the middle, the steering wheel could be turned half-way around and the front wheels wouldn’t move, every time you hit a bump the back of the truck would shake for ten seconds, three of the wheels were of one kind and the other, well, it was different. That’s just for starters!

All that said, everybody needs a pick-up, right?

The truck kept sitting there until the bright idea came into the minds of my brother and sister. I don’t remember them having too many bright ideas and I’m not sure this one was either. They said, “Lynn, why don’t you fix her up? After all, it’s daddy’s truck.” That sounded like a good idea. I said that sounded like a good idea. Clean your ears out, Lynn.

Daddy could drive his truck around despite all those things I mentioned. He never saw anything wrong with his truck. So long as he turned the key and it cranked, everything was alright. Daddy could go for years without ever thinking about washing his truck. Corn would sprout in the back.

After he died, his grandsons, my nephews, decided to clean up the truck. They opened what doors would open and got the one hoe that was around the house and “hoed” it out. Then they took the hose that was hooked to the nearby spigot and played firemen. They left the doors open for a few days so that the cab would dry out. That’s how they cleaned up the truck.

Well, a voice up there seemed to say, “Fix up the truck. After all, it’s your daddy’s truck.” Daddy, is that you?

I contracted with a local mechanic to get the play out of the steering wheel and to fix the rear so it wouldn’t shimmy all the way to Bainbridge. He started talking about ball joints and tie rods, plus sway bars. I had no idea what he was talking about and said, “Just fix it. It’s daddy’s truck.”

Then, the doors needed to be fixed. Thankfully, a friend of mine, knows about these things and we talked to the Dodge place and ordered the parts. Just as an aside, they’re not giving away door parts these days! That’s when mama said, “Lynn, you’re learning how to piddle around.”

I realized I have never been one to piddle around with cars. I’m like my daddy. They crank. That’s good.

Now all I got to do is get another wheel that looks like the others and fix the windshield. Oh, and there is also the matter of the ragged seats and the mold and mildew after the boys hosed her out.

But I’m not “piddlin’ around.” I’m serious. Daddy’s truck is going to have four wheels that look the same at last!