Remembering Gold Star Father Who Inspired the Hit Song 'I Drive Your Truck'

It's a day Paul Monti never forgot. The day he got the news military parents dread: His 30-year-old son, U.S. Army Sergeant First Class Jared Monti, had been killed while serving with the 10th Mountain Division in Afghanistan. Paul, a recently retired teacher from Raynham, Massachusetts, instantly joined the ranks of Gold Star parents in 2006.

Paul didn't know what to do or say when he got the news, let alone how to process his grief. A few months later, on his first Veterans Day visit to his son's gravesite at the 780-acre Massachusetts National Cemetery, he noticed something odd: There wasn't a flag on display at any of the 78,000 graves in the cemetery. Not one.

The flags weren't there, Paul learned, because ground crews complained they made it harder for them to cut the cemetery's grass. Not pleased with that explanation, Paul did what any Gold Star dad or mom would do: He fought the Department of Veterans Affairs until the rule was changed.

But this Gold Star dad's mission was only partially complete. He then launched Operation Flags for Vets, an organization dedicated to placing flags on every grave at the Massachusetts National Cemetery every Memorial and Veterans Day. All to preserve the memory of the sacrifices that so many in that cemetery made for their country, including his son.

During the first Flags for Vets ceremony, on Memorial Day in 2011, Paul's vision became a reality as an army of volunteers spread out across the massive military cemetery and adorned 62,000 graves with flags. "In the crowd around you, there are many Gold Star families," Paul told the crowd, overwhelmed by their support and patriotism. "Please, as you place a flag say a small prayer for these veterans. Maybe if you could write down the names, go home and look them up on the internet. You'll be surprised what you'll find."

Paul was interviewed later that day by NPR, fighting back tears as he told a story about a new kitchen set Jared and his Army pals purchased for their home, only to give it away. "One day his buddies came home and the kitchen set was missing," Paul recalled. "They asked him where it was, and Jared said, 'Well, I was over at one of my soldier's houses and his kids were eating on the floor, so I figured they needed the kitchen set more than we did.' And so the $700 kitchen set disappeared. That's what he did."

His father described his son as a man who didn't crave attention. "All of his medals went in a sock drawer," Jared's dad said. "No one ever saw them; he didn't want to stand out." In 2009, his son posthumously received the highest commendation any American soldier can be awarded, the Congressional Medal of Honor.

But the most powerful part of Paul's story revolved around Jared's truck: why he didn't sell it and why he still drove it. "What can I tell you? It's him," he explained. "It's got his DNA all over it. I love driving it because it reminds me of him, though I don't need the truck to remind me of him. I think about him every hour of every day."

Paul shared details of his son's Dodge 4x4 Ram 1500 truck adorned with decals, including the 10th Mountain Division, the 82nd Airborne Division, an American flag and a "Go Army" decal.

Then came the most emotional part of the interview. "You know, I think it's important for people to understand—or try to understand—what Gold Star parents go through," he said. "Your child is your future, and when you lose your child you've lost your future. And I think one of the reasons so many Gold Star parents drive their children's trucks is because they have to hold on. They just have to hold on."

I'll never forget that interview because I was listening to it on that sunny Memorial Day in a Walmart parking lot in my hometown, unable to get out of my SUV because I was crying so hard. Crying as I used to cry when I was a child. Crying as if I'd just lost my child.

I wasn't the only one sitting alone in my car crying that Memorial Day back in 2011. Nashville songwriter Connie Harrington was in her car listening to the same story. Moved to tears, she did what writers do: She pulled over and scribbled down details of the story so she wouldn't forget them.

When she got home, one part of Paul's story kept crying out to her: the story of that truck. With the help of two songwriter friends (Jimmy Yeary and Jessi Alexander), Harrington turned that part of the Monti story—and all of the emotion—into a song, which country singer Lee Brice recorded. "I Drive Your Truck" made its way quickly to No. 1 on Billboard's country chart. The video has 50 million views and counting.

But as remarkable as this story was, it didn't end there. Not long after Brice's song became a hit, Paul was contacted by a woman he knew who had lost her son in the same battle that took his son's life. "She sent me a message that she'd heard the song and that I had to listen to it," he told reporters. "She knew I drove Jared's truck, and she drove her son's truck."

He confessed that he was unable to make it through the whole song. "I'd get into it a few bars or so and kind of welled up," he explained.

What Paul didn't know was that it was his story that inspired the song. The writers eventually tracked him down to celebrate the song's success. It won the Country Music Association's award for song of the year in 2013.

The song did what country music does best: tell sad, beautiful stories. Here's the opening verse and chorus:

Eighty-nine cents in the ashtray
Half-empty bottle of Gatorade
Rollin' on the floorboard.

That dirty Braves cap on the dash
Dog tags hangin' from the rearview
Old Skoal can and cowboy boots
And a "Go Army" shirt folded in the back.

This thing burns gas like crazy
But that's all right
People got their ways of copin'
Oh and I've got mine.

I drive your truck
I roll every window down
And I burn up
Every back road in this town.

I find a field, I tear it up
Till all the pain is a cloud of dust
Yes, sometimes I drive your truck.

What we don't learn from the song were the circumstances of his son's death. In June 2006, Jared's patrol came under fire, and one soldier who served under him was wounded and needed help. Despite a wicked firefight, Jared tried three times to help his fallen comrade. It was the last attempt that got him killed.

No one who knew Jared was surprised. "It's what he did," Paul said of his son. "Jared didn't give up on people, and always, he tried to do the right thing."

What led Jared to become the man he was? One need not look far to figure it out. His father, it turns out, had the same passion for serving others, for doing the right thing—and doing hard things.

Last week, Paul died at the age of 76 from cancer in Raynham. We learned from local media reports that he taught earth sciences at Stoughton High School for 35 years and rarely talked about himself: He was too busy taking care of people around him.

Paul's daughter Niccole told reporters her dad, one of nine kids growing up, worked hard throughout his life. He delivered newspapers and worked all kinds of odd jobs growing up, and worked two and sometimes three jobs to support his family. He didn't complain about it. Or take credit for it. It was who he was.

"Paul relentlessly pursued a life of helping others, being a role model and leading by example," wrote his colleagues on the Massachusetts Fallen Heroes website and Facebook page. "He left us to join his son Jared in heaven," the post ended.

It's a sublime final image of two lives beautifully lived, and God's just reward for doing so. It's why the story of Paul and Jared Monti is one for the ages: It's proof that fathers matter in the lives of their sons and daughters, and the life of their communities too. And proof that, as the saying goes, it's better to live a sermon than give one.