We talked about it for days. He was so excited that morning he could barely stand it. The whole way there he jabbered on and on about the tractors and the fire trucks and the motorcycles he planned to see – but mostly the tractors. He'd never anticipated something so eagerly in his whole almost-three-year-old life. Touch-a-Truck was made for this kid.
We pulled up. Waited in line. Got our wristbands. Through the gate. And Colt laid eyes on a parking lot full of every imaginable truck, tractor, car, bus, boat — you name it. H-E-A-V-E-N.
It wasn't until about six minutes in that the horn sounded on one of those beloved trucks, tractors, cars, buses or boats — and he politely asked if we could go home.
And just as we convinced him it would be fun to stay a little while and that the horns weren't so bad — there went another one. Through the grip of death he had on my hand I could feel his whole body jolt every time a horn blew.
He managed to have a good time anyway and we made our way around to most of the vehicles in the lot. "Overstimulated" would be a bit of an understatement — people everywhere, lots to see, lots to hear, lots to take in –
You'll notice – no pictures of tractors. As luck would have it, the tractors were the loudest things there, and he wouldn't go anywhere near them. The rest of the weekend when asked what he thought of Touch-a-Truck he would tell people, "the tractors were LOUD."
His favorite was the school bus. Nice and quiet inside the school bus.
You probably also noticed that face he's making in nearly every picture. That is his What-On-Earth-Is-All-That-Noise? Face. He is his father's child.