The love affair between a guy and his truck started long before me, but I find myself in a similar position.  There is something about the faithfulness of your truck that brings you closer than any other car.  Oh, we name our sexy cars, race our fast ones, wreck our old ones, but something happens when it's time to say goodbye to a truck--that doesn't happen with your car.

Maybe it's the years of helping your friends move big crap, or driving a baseball team infield to an out-of-town game, and then sitting on the hood with ice-cream celebrating after the ride home.  The trips to Iowa City, Chicago's Lake Shore Drive with a giant paper-mache dolphin hanging out the back, or a passed out friend safely arriving at home in the passenger seat--you are a team.

No task was too big, or too messy.  You could hose out the back after a firewood run, and carry a cake to a wedding.  All of the above you could also do with a minivan, and probably do it  more comfortably.  But nobody ever cried when their minivan had to be put down.