Another war

Twenty years ago, the Trolley War took place on the streets of New York, in which the weak defeated the strong. It was so thrilling that it is still thrilling to think about it now.

At that time, I was just a teenager, and I thought it was crazy and fun to see that my father and his colleagues actually came up with weapons like the pea gun. Whether it was puncturing the tires of a large truck or Uncle Frank's later arrest, they all showed unity, bravery and wisdom. But I have a vague feeling that the fighting methods of our fathers cannot be exposed to the sun openly.

Today, I have become the vice president of a logistics company. Every day I see all kinds of containers arranged and combined like soldiers, busy in an orderly manner. Under my management and dispatch, behemoths loaded with flowers, cantaloupes, and local pretzels were sent to all parts of the world via waterways and highways. Fast and punctual are our service concepts, which rely on various large-scale transportation and a three-dimensional and developed transportation network. And these are simply not possible with a trolley.

On January 3, I was busy dispatching a car for a peanut butter order in Miami. The motion-sensing watch on my left hand vibrated three long and two short. This was the setting for an incoming call from my father Maurice: "Amy, I have to come back this weekend. , I have something important to talk to you about!" His tone was firm and unquestionable. I looked at the gloomy sky and sighed helplessly.

I originally had an outing appointment with Morris and his family, but I politely postponed it for a week and rushed to the interview with my father. The distance was 238 kilometers. With the help of the efficient and fast jet suspension vehicle, I didn’t have to worry about traffic jams at all. It only took me 43 minutes to get home.

After entering the door, my father looked serious and motioned for me to sit on the chair opposite him. He didn't speak for a long time. I didn't know what emotions he was brewing, so I didn't dare to speak easily. I secretly thought: My father has just retired from his position as the targeting officer of the Lunar Exploration Agency in New York City. Maybe the sudden free time recently has made him, who has always been hardworking, a little uncomfortable?

After a while, my father broke the awkward silence first: "When will you come back to sell hot dogs?" I pursed my lips, not knowing what to answer. My father pointed to the dusty cart in the corner and said sadly: "I have been an aiming officer for so many years, which makes this old friend of mine really lonely. We can't let it rot like this."

It turns out that this is still a common topic - my father has always wanted me to "inherit" the mantle. I refuse in my heart and always find various excuses to shirk it. Now that we are in this situation, let’s have a formal negotiation. I silently gave myself a pep talk, rolled up my sleeves and worked harder.

The following is the transcript of the negotiation:

Father: Our generation is getting old, and this food guy has to be passed on to the next generation.

Me: Dad, you are raising fish and flowers at home now. There is no need to worry about firewood, rice, oil and salt anymore.

Father: I don’t worry? Don’t worry, the food you ate when you were a kid, the school you went to, and the place you lived in were all earned by me pushing a handcart through the streets and working from dawn to dusk!

Me: I keep these in mind. I only got my current position by working hard step by step. Large companies have advanced concepts, which are very beneficial to my growth and development. Can you please be considerate of me?

Father: Let me be considerate of you, and you must also be considerate of me. I am getting old, time is not forgiving, and I am no longer capable of pushing a stroller around. But this old guy was built by Maxi himself. Although he left us, he still left this object behind, and it was just a thought. The running water will not rot, the door hinge will not be beetrooted, but if it is not used for a long time, this wooden thing will fall apart, which makes me feel sad!

Me: The craftsmanship of this "King of Trolleys" is really not just a boast. After so many years, this cart can still be used. You see, it’s also very good to put it as a flower stand in the yard.

Father: Why can’t you make sense! I'm asking you to come back and continue selling my hot dogs from your cart. Last time I ran into Betsy Schwartz, she said she missed my hot dogs with sauerkraut. You see, old customers are still very affectionate.

Me: Nowadays, there are various brands and flavors of hot dogs online. With just a move of your finger, logistics companies like us can help them deliver them quickly and on time. Aunt Bessie said she missed your hot dogs. It was just a pleasantries when we met. The times are developing. Various new modes of transportation and various 24-hour convenience stores have made life so convenient and fast. You must be deeply touched. Do you still want to go back to the world decades ago? Besides, if you ask me to push the trolley on the street, the range I can reach is within a radius of three to five kilometers. If Frank's father, who is fifty kilometers away, wants to eat, there will be no way to serve him. But if we use our current company's logistics system, it becomes very simple.

Father: Aren’t you just unable to let go of your status as the vice president? Don’t you just look down on small businesses like pushcarts?

Me: Dad, actually my current job is an enhanced version of the trolley. You see, the trolley is only so big, and the things it can put down are also limited, and the range it can reach is not large. However, our containers can travel across the ocean and reach various cities, and then the distribution links in various places are delivered by jet motorcycles. It can be delivered to customers without any problem of competing with vehicles on the highway, making it safe and fast.

Shouldn't we be grateful for the modernity and speed brought by social progress? My dear father, please believe in the power of change. Things you never dared to think about before are now possible!

Father:...

The afternoon sun shines in slantingly from the window, so bright and dazzling that it warms the body. The father narrowed his eyes and seemed to be lost in thought. The wrinkles on his face were invisible in the sunlight, silently telling the stories of the vicissitudes of life.

Suddenly, I felt emotional: My father is really old.

Pretending to be relaxed, I said goodbye to my father and returned to work. While I continued to be busy, I was also thinking about how to avoid disappointing my father. When we met with little Morris the next week, we finally came up with a plan - to build a trolley museum with various professional experience programs in it.

That night, we were so excited that we drank several bottles of beer!

After the battle with the big truck, the pushcart vendors who once fought side by side became good friends. Their children naturally played together and have now grown into elites in various industries. As soon as the call came out, everyone was very active. Speaking of the "bombing" (inheriting the "family business") from their parents, almost everyone said that they had experienced it before, but they were helpless. Building such a museum now not only fulfills the wish of our fathers, but also gives me a career space to work hard for. Why not?

People's hearts are moving. The strength of the unity of the second generation of pushcarts is very amazing. We can compete with our fathers. As the saying goes, "a tiger father has no dog son"! Within two months, a decent museum was completed, and everyone sent their trolleys to the museum one after another. For a time, the museum turned into a pushcart exhibition, with "recycling of cardboard boxes", "trading of various waste materials", "coal and ice, door-to-door delivery", "school pretzels" and so on all on display. Even old Anna's granddaughter put them on display. "Apples and pears" were also delivered. ?

Marvin Seeley, already a professional photographer for National Geographic magazine, also gave the photos of the Daffodil Massacre to the museum free of charge. The flower seller Frank's hat is hung on the wall in the middle of the exhibition room. Above the hat is written: A powerful tool for relieving traffic congestion. There is also a line of red text below: Are you brave today? This gives you courage and strength! The most interesting thing is that Carlos' son also contributed a peashooter that he had collected for 20 years.

The opening date of the museum was specially chosen on March 15, which coincided with the 20th anniversary of the "Daffodil Massacre". Movie star Wenda Gamboling came to deliver a speech and cut the ribbon. The "Trolley Generation" who had fought side by side came, and we, the "Trolley Second Generation", also came with our families, as well as various people we knew and didn't know. This event is comparable to the Cantaloupe Carnival.

Morris and my father each pushed flowers and hot dogs. Although their steps were staggering, they seemed to have regained their former energy on the "mini street" and kept selling happily. Uncle Morris already had a lot of wrinkles on his face, but when he smiled, the wrinkles piled up and bloomed like a flower. Behind them were an excited little Maurice, and my son Eric. I also saw Mark who was released early (I heard that he came to his senses while in prison and wrote a letter of apology to each of the pushcart vendors he was once hostile to). He followed the pushcart with great interest, following every step, leisurely. Ting Xinbu's appearance showed no sign of his previous fiery temper.

"If General Maxi and Anna are still here, they will definitely be very happy!" I don't know who said this.

"First of all, you have to make up your mind to resist. Secondly, you ask me how to resist." This sentence suddenly popped up in my mind. While my thoughts were wandering, I suddenly saw my father smiling like a child at me. I blinked and felt sweet in my heart.

Because, in this war between the first and second generations of pushcarts, everyone won! There will always be a few carts in New York City that will always be remembered...