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today i drove a ford for the first time ever. but it wasn’t just any ford (i don’t like them so i probably wouldn’t drive a different one), this ford was a 1933 model B. this truck is “the truck” in my family. it is my grandfather’s pride and joy. he rebuilt it and has won a ton of awards for it. when we went to go to the store today and i offered to drive (as i was parked in front of his normal truck, a dodge for the record) and he said okay but then walked away from my suburban. i asked him what he was doing and he said, “well i thought you could drive the ‘33” and walked to the other garage across the street. most of you are probably thinking, “so what it’s just an old truck?” but it’s so much more than that. very few people have ever driven it (i’m talking less than 5). my dad has only taken a ride in it twice in his memory and has yet to drive it. it’s just crazy to think that someone could trust someone else so much that they’re willing to let them use the thing they love the most to go to the store so that they could fix the other person’s lamp. i don’t know why i wrote all this but i just felt like i needed to. i love my grandpa so much.