I don't remember the milk trucks. Much. Faintly, I remember a big old flat bed truck that would come rumbling down the gravel road to our house. I remember the milk cans. They were nearly as tall as me and made out of heavy sheet metal. I couldn't lift one myself but me and my brother who was four years older could. We lived on a little farm. Since Daddy got a job at the tire and rubber plant, we didn't grow cotton anymore but Mother and my older brothers milked cows and sold the milk for extra money.
Buddy Ledlow drove that milk truck. Not only did he drive the truck but he loaded those milk cans on back of it. He could take one in each hand and heave them up onto the bed of the truck. When he died the Preacher said he never believed there were giants on the earth until he saw Buddy Ledlow.
But now that I've grown much older and heard and seen things I never dreamt of then, I think - ah Mr. Preacher man, your eyes deceive you. Buddy was not a giant because of his size, he was giant because of what he did. He like countless others, got up everyday and worked doing heavy and repetitive tasks so that his family would have food and clothing and shelter.
And it was even more than that. When his children were big enough to sit alone, he hoisted them on his shoulders so they could see the world that was. He kept them there so their feet should not follow in his footsteps but rather find easier paths to tread. Buddy's father did the same and so on back as far as the first father who held his baby in his arms and loved it.
Yes Preacher, Buddy was a giant. But giants are not rare. They are as common as the guy waiting behind you at the gas station. And it is the reason we need that gas because otherwise, in our primeval world we would only be concerned with what wild animal we could kill or wild berry we could pick.
Happy belated Father's Day, Fathers.