Many years ago, I had been searching for a project that would keep me busy, out of the house, and provide a certain satisfaction of completion. I liked wood working but didn’t have the space or tools to begin that endeavor. The idea of stamp or money collections was appalling, and I could only do so much to my backyard to keep it in shape.
I, and my sons, who were ages twelve and ten at the time, traveled to my parents’ home one weekend day. I was talking to my dad about doing something to keep me busy. He walked me out to the back of his property. Sitting in the middle of the former chicken yard was a faded blue 1957 Chevrolet. It was covered with algae, dirt, and, if I didn’t know better, chicken manure. The interior was in great shape, the body needed some work, but overall, not too bad at all. My dad had bought it years before and planned on working on the vehicle himself. His health problems now prevented that. I had never thought about auto restoration but the idea was perfect.
We struck up a deal and I traded an old Ford truck for my brand-new old car. We drained the gas tank and added new fuel, added oil and water, filled the tires, and jumped the battery. It fired up. A plume of blue smoke filled the air, but soon the exhaust was clear. My boys and I jumped in and took off for home.
The car ran like a champ as I pulled into the west side of my town. I looked into the back seat and saw both boys hunkered down on the seat.
Now they were old enough to formulate their own ideas of reality.
“Everybody is staring at us when they go by. We should have washed the car before we left Grandpa’s town.”
The other son gave an affirmation to that very thought.
“Guys, I said, they are staring at this car because it a classic. It is one of the most popular cars ever built. People are jealous.”
I left it at that.
Several blocks down the streets I felt a draft coming from the back. I looked to see that both of these characters had their windows rolled down, their elbows outside, and giving nods to all those who happened to look their way.
They helped me sand, prime, and prepare the car for body work and paint. We all took, in some way, ownership of that old car.
It was a classic example of perception. It was truly classic.
Left To Write 