At first I thought it was a muscle spasm, but then I realized it was directed at me. It was a faint but unmistakable wave of the hand as I passed by. This wasn't just any ol' Miss America wave or even the small town country wave you would expect from this part of North Carolina. Oh no. It was much more than that. It was a wave, I quickly came to find out, known as "The Trucker Wave."

Because I had to move back up to North Carolina from my home in Georgia, I used my Dad's huge Chevy something-or-other pickup truck to tote my collegiate necessities around. It is a huge truck, with room enough in the cab to fit 8 people and a huge engine that rumbles like Southern thunder. Not to mention the huge gas tank which consumes unethical amounts of gasoline merely by starting the beast up. I have this Chevy Monster for a week until I can get my sleek, Kate-style Pontiac Vibe back.

The house I am living in while in North Carolina is a nice house out in the country. Giving people directions to my house is easy, "Drive until you reach the airport in the cow pasture, take a right at the Flying Pig barbecue, and it'll be a few miles through the fields after that."

It's funny to me to think that a mere 2 weeks ago I was living my life in the city of Los Angeles. Now, I find myself back here in Boiling Springs, North Carolina. Both cities I can appreciate for their diversity and unique personalities, but they are by no means the same. I daresay I am experiencing a sort of culture shock being back here in the South.

This brings me to the Trucker Wave. While my truck would be reproached for it's menacing size and glared at with disdain by environmentalists in Los Angles, here in Boiling Springs, I have observed, it is looked at with a sort of respect and admiration. Perhaps it is the National Rifle Association sticker or the Cherokee Rose Sporting Resort license plate on it, but it's probably just the fact it's a big-a** Chevy truck.

As a sign of this respect I (well, not me… the truck) have received an increasing amount of Trucker Waves as I drive through the town. It is inevitable. Old men trimming their lawns in the morning, construction workers, blue-collar men walking down Main Street, other men in ungodly sized trucks passing me on the road… all have flashed me the Trucker Wave. This is a secret club phenomenon that has never happened to me before. It's almost better that being in drama club.

I called my dad to tell him about this strange, new experience I was having because of his truck.

"Dad! People throw down the Trucker Wave when I pass them on the street! It's incredible!"

"Oh... the Trucker Wave," he said, his voice grave, "I was going to wait until you were older to tell you about the Trucker Wave."

These past few years of my life have been full of changes and the wonderful process of me discovering how to live my life to the fullest. I feel that I have done more in my short 22 years than many people have done in a lifetime. I have traveled, met all sorts of interesting and influential people, and experienced things that most humans only dream about. However, all of these things pale in comparison to the unity and camaraderie I have found within the warm embrace of the Trucker Wave.

Throw it down. Chevy country style.