The Truck Experience That Shape My Life

If you’ve ever wanted the ground to open and swallow you—yeah, same. Let me tell you about that one time my dad dropped me off at school in the loudest, roughest truck you can imagine…

Back in secondary school, I had three close friends Ruthie, Dorcas, and Priscilla. We were tight. Always together. Our upstairs common room was our favorite place to chill. We’d spend hours talking, laughing, watching the school gate, and casually throwing harmless gist about things and people we noticed. It was all jokes nothing too serious. We shared secrets, dreams, and silly hot takes. They were my girls.

Then came that fateful vacation day.

We were in our usual spot, watching parents pick up their kids. Some came in private cars, others in air-conditioned SUVs. Then, a particular parent showed up in a pickup truck.

The reaction from my friends was instant and brutal.

“God forbid,” Dorcas said, rolling her eyes.

“My dad cannot come in something like that,” Ruthie laughed.

Priscilla added, “Me? I’ll just walk away like I don’t even know the man.”

They all burst into laughter.

I didn’t laugh.

I didn’t say a word.

Because deep down, I knew my dad owned a truck. And knowing how things usually go with us, there was a real possibility he might show up with it one day.

Fast forward holiday was over. Bags packed, back to school. And just as we were preparing for the journey, my dad broke the news:

“The Lexus has issues . I’ll take you in the truck.”

My heart? Sank.

Let me tell you about this truck.

It wasn’t like the one my friends were laughing at. Nomine was worse. The paint was patchy. The back was rusty. It made the loudest noise whenever it moved, like it was growling through life. And the door? Oh Lord the door needed you to summon the strength of a thousand men to open it. And when it finally did, it made such a loud, screeching sound, everyone in a 3-mile radius would turn and stare.

This was the ride taking me to school. A boarding school. In Jos. Where I was trying to be somebody.

The trip went fine until we got to the school gate. I could already feel eyes watching.

“Daddy,” I said with a small voice, “please stop here. I’ll walk to the hostel.”

He smiled.

And then he drove straight to the hostel gate.

I froze.

It was like time slowed down. I could hear everything: the clanking of the engine, the protesting door as I struggled to open it, the whispers of students nearby. My shame felt so heavy. And yet… something shifted in me.

Because in that moment, I looked at my dad not the truckand I saw a man I deeply loved.

A humble man.

A man who never cut corners. Who worked from sunrise to deep into the night. Who carried the weight of building a business—not just to feed himself, but to feed me, my siblings, and someday, even our children. My mom couldn’t make the trip with us because she was also working keeping things afloat back home. They were both doing everything they could to give me a future they didn’t have.

So I asked myself:

Why am I ashamed?

Why am I hiding?

That truck may have been rusty, loud, and embarrassing ,but it was proof of my dad’s hard work. It was his investment. His grind. His sacrifice.

From that day, I stopped seeing it as “just a truck.”

It became a symbol of love, effort, and dignity.

To every young person who’s ever felt embarrassed about what their parents do listen up:

It’s easy to admire what looks shiny from the outside. But don’t let the noise of the world drown the truth of your roots. Your parents may not be fancy, but they’re real. They hustle. They sacrifice. And there’s nothing shameful about that. Be proud of them. Stand tall. Because that thing you're running from today? It might just be the foundation of your greatness tomorrow.

As for me?

That truck is still my favorite ride. Not because it’s beautiful. But because it carried more than just me it carried the weight of a father's love.