Brice Turk
Middle School / High School Counselor
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Allow me to introduce myself:
The road map of his life is marked by the cars he drove. Packed with his siblings and friends in the back of a beat up green Ford pickup, he careened across Wyoming streams and the Big Horn Mountains to the family cabin, the wildest and most free summers in his life. He rode to school in a Volkswagon Bug that could only be brought to life with a screwdriver and a wild roll down a Casper hill. He drove to Rocky Mountain College in Billings in a Pontiac Firebird, his favorite and most cherished car that had to be reluctantly sold to finish his degree in Sociology. He wooed his future wife in a Bonneville that had a habit of breaking down at the most inopportune times, like on the Beartooth Pass. A succession of pickups, starting with a Toyota and growing up to Fords in orange, green and white, and red saw him through 30 years of marriage, a job at the Yellowstone Boys and Girls Ranch, construction, and at Joliet Schools, a little girl, a starter home, and then a move to a home in the country. His trucks have hauled firewood, manure, plywood, rocks, junk, campers, boats, fishing equipment, and golf clubs. He built a CJ7 from scratch in his garage, years of parts and manuals, cussing and bloodied fingers, transforming a junker into a red beauty that his granddaughters call “Vroom”. Now a Mercury Cougar lies in pieces in the garage, waiting for its own transformation. The nicest pickup he ever owned, “Sully” because it was blue like the monster in Monsters, Inc., was t-boned in Billings just after leaving the business he and his wife built downtown. The whole frame was shattered, but it protected the man’s life with its own. A new red Ford sits in the driveway in its place, not quite the same, but it does have a backup camera and heated seats. And as grey begins to creep into the man’s hair, he dreams of finding the Firebird he lost all those years ago. One day, he says, he will find it on Craig’s List, and he and his wife and girls will drive Route 66 with the top down and the radio turned way up, Bob Seger’s gravelly voice drifting on the wind.