the taxi driver.

Taxi drivers can be hit & miss. 


Sometimes, they say nothing and grunt a “thank you” after you’ve paid, and you stumble out of the car.

But this week, I had the best taxi driver. He was a small, Asian man in his 60s.

As we’re driving, I hear the song ‘Convoy’ playing on the radio. You know, that comical tune from the 1970s about a truck driver describing a convoy of trucks. A lyric says “’bout a mile out of Shaky Town…”

“Hmm, what do you think they mean by Shaky Town?” the taxi driver murmurs to me.

“I’m not too sure!”

“Where is Shaky Town?”

“Maybe it’s fictional…? Or a nickname for a town in the States?” I reply.


“My parents like this song,” I muse, looking out the window.

“Do they? Yeah, it’s a good old tune. I love these oldies songs. I grew up with them, and I feel like the younger generation don’t appreciate them as much,” he replies.

“I do, and I’m 25. I love them.” I was getting passionate, now.

“Probably because your parents like it – you grew up with it, so you have an appreciation. And sometimes families who have more than one child, there may be a child who appreciates their music, and then the rest of them all have differing tastes.”

“Yeah! I have 5 sisters. Most of us have an appreciation of the music we grew up with, but we do differ in our tastes.”

“Wow! 5 sisters. Your mother had 6 girls!” he exclaims.

“How that happened, I have no idea!”

“Oh, well, you can never plan for these things. They just happen! I bet your parents love you 6 girls,” he replies, chuckling.

“They do,” I smile.

I left the taxi with a smile that didn’t leave me for a long time. I love my big family; I’m very proud of them, and where I come from. Plus, who doesn’t love a friendly taxi driver?



4 thoughts on “the taxi driver.

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