CAREER DAYS, NOT ALWAYS COLLEGE
They told me a truck driver didn’t belong on the stage, but I was the only one in that gym who’d kept America fed when the shelves went bare.
My name’s Linda. I’m forty-six, a long-haul trucker, and a single mom. I don’t wear a suit. I don’t have a framed diploma on my wall. What I have is twenty years behind the wheel, miles of asphalt under my boots, and two kids who’ve never gone hungry because I refused to quit.
When my daughter’s school asked me to speak at Career Day, I laughed. Who wants to hear from a truck driver? But she begged, so I showed up. The gym was filled with polished shoes, ties, and PowerPoints. Doctors talking about saving lives. Lawyers bragging about cases won. A tech guy in a crisp blazer throwing around words like “equity” and “IPO.”
And then there was me—mud on…
