Birthday Blues

 Sixteen, that magical age where a driver's license can become a reality, is something every child looks forward to. It's a significant moment in life, signaling a new phase in your journey, a time when you can finally break free from the boundaries imposed on you and explore the world that lies beyond walking and bike-riding distance. Every sixteen year old hopes that a car will be one of their birthday presents, and if they're lucky it happens.

 My father had been dropping significant hints that my sixteenth birthday would be one of the few that had a car as a gift. He would ask me what kind of cars I liked, stop at dealerships while we were out driving, things like that. He never actually came out and said it, but I was convinced it was going to happen, and I think he was really looking.

 The day of my birthday my father picked me up and we drove to his condominium (my parents are divorced) and I was bouncing off the doorpanels in anticipation. It was really going to happen, a car of my own. No longer would I have to ask mom if I could borrow the car, one would be waiting at my every beck and call. As we reached the condo complex I went into search mode. I knew all the cars in that area and was looking for one I didn't recognize. Hmmm, they all were ones I had seen before, so he must have it in the garage!

 The door to the garage seemed to take an eternity to open. I barely contained my enthusiasm, it was like a theater opening, with my new car as the star. Except my new car was a no-show. The garage was empty, and at that moment so was my heart. My father pulled his car in and we entered the garage.

 Shortly after arriving my dad said he had to go pick something up at the store, so he left. Immediately I ran to an upstairs window, which had a commanding view of the complex. My father was going to pick my car up, I believed, so I waited by the window and ran to it every time I heard a car. I'm still waiting, to this very day, because my dad returned with something other than a car of my own, and I was devastated.

 When I went home the next day my mother was visibly agitated. She had been there many times when my dad had hinted at him buying me a car for my birthday, and knew I believed it was going to happen. She had some words with him in private while I went to my room and sulked. Depressed became my normal operating mode for a month as my fantasy dwindled into nothingness. The hardest part was explaining to my friends in school that I was not a car-owner, because I of course had bragged that I would probably be getting one for my birthday. Hey, I wasn't naive enough to tell them I was certainly getting one, at least.

 Fool me once, shame on you, fool me twice, shame on me. My seventeenth birthday was a repeat of my sixteenth. Again my father was laying on the hints, and again I believed it, to my disappointment. Again I was depressed, but it didn't last as long because mom came to the rescue. She and her fiance had found a car for me, a baby powder blue 1977 Ford Granada (complete with vinyl top) for $600.00, which I had to repay. It was old, had some rust, and had a bench front seat, not exactly what i had in mind, but it didn't matter. Residing under the hood was Ford's 302 V8, the same one that's in the Mustang, and that was good enough for me. I loved that car, and still do. You never get over your first love, and one of my demented fantasies is to restore a Granada, just because.

MR2 @ 02:18:50 AM 

Meetup

MR2 @ 01:51:28 AM 

Wagon Train

 My friend David and I used to go to the only arcade in town when I was in middle school. The transportation was his father's station wagon, the kind with the third row of seats that folded into the floor. I wonder how many people will never ride in a station wagon now that they're almost extinct?

 Sport-utes are the new station wagons, but really, they suck at what they do. They're harder to get into and the 4-wheel drive (do the drivers even know how to activate it?) adds weight that robs fuel economy. These vehicles are more about image than anything else. It's not cool to have a station wagon, and a mini-van makes you a soccer mom, but an SUV makes you adventerous. You can go anywhere with 4-wheel drive!

MR2 @ 07:37:02 PM 

Huh?
 Why does Yahoo think this site has anything to do with face sitting?

MR2 @ 12:33:41 PM 

Passing The Torch

 Why do some traits seem to skip generations? My grandfather was a mechanic his entire life, having worked for White Truck in Cleveland until he died. He was one of those people who could just listen to an engine running and know what was not working correctly. My father, on the other hand, is not very mechanically inclined. There was a wealth of knowledge my grandfather possessed that he did not pass on to his sons. It's now lost, a lifetime of skill and insight that died with him.

 That's one of the great injustices in the world, from my perspective, as I can easily understand mechanical things just by observing them. Everything I know had to be learned from whatever sources I could find, as my father did not have the skills. I'm not nearly as good a mechanic as I know I could be, but now I finally have a chance to really learn something. Bobby, my best friend, just bought a Datsun 280Z, and I'm helping him restore it to it's former glory.

MR2 @ 12:24:05 PM 

Car Guy, The Early Years

 Posting here has been rather light of late. It's been a hectic two months recently, me losing a roommate, having a cat get deathly ill, and the birth of my nephew. Try as I might, I was unsuccessful in my bid to have him named something automotive, like Datsun or Mitsu. Oh well, maybe next time.

MR2 @ 09:32:19 AM 







Powered by Blog,  Mozilla,  MetaPad
Comments by: YACCS