Dad's Car

[kybearfuzz]

Similar to Dad's car and spool
With Father's Day coming up, I thought I should do a post about my dad. He's been gone for over ten years now and it surprises me that it's been that long already.

I wish I could say that I had a great relationship with my dad. While it definitely was good in some parts, it was not so great in others. I think he got along better with my twin as they were more similar in attitude and humor.

When I do think of good memories of Dad, I often think of his car (that's not it in the photo, but it's close). People think I'm making this up when I tell them about it, but I swear on a stack of 8-tracks that it's true.

When my sister, twin and I were little, Dad had a white beat-up station wagon that he bought for $300. The car itself had to be at least 20 years old. The most amazing thing about this car was that it still ran. Dad drove this car to work while Mom kept the decent car at home.

His car had a large bench seat in the back. The front bench seat had been removed. My dad placed a large white reclining chair in the drivers spot, which rested in place against the back bench seat, so no foot room. In the front passenger side was a large wooden spool, the kind used as tables in dorm rooms, bachelor pads, and fine trailer park living rooms in the rural South.

Dad's car was missing the back window. I don't recall if it was broken out or just broken so it wouldn't go up. It made for some very cold rides to school on wintry mornings.

Dad's car had no key. The ignition wires were pulled and wrapped around the radio's volume dial. A quick tap together (and a brief prayer) and the car would eventually start. While this would seem crazy to some people, given how easy the car would have been to steal, the next auto deficiency would explain why no one would ever be able to get away with the car.

Dad's car had little to no muffler. It ran with a steady, booming "GLUG GLUG GLUG GLUG GLUG GLUG..." noise that could easily be heard for blocks. We knew Dad was on his way home from work long before we ever saw him. In addition, the car burned motor oil almost constantly, sending out huge plumes of white smoke, like Marge Schott while dragging multiple cigarettes at a Reds game. I'm convinced Dad's vehicle had something to do with global warming.

To complete the picture, you have to know that my dad's vehicle had an eight-track player. Most often playing in the radio was "Johnny Cash, Live at Folsom Prison." Nothing like a bit of "Ring of Fire" playing loud enough to drown out the GLUG!

My brother and I would play outside in the early morning hours in the summer, sitting on top of the car. On day, my twin got the brilliant idea to ride his dirt bike down the front of the car, but miscalculated the drop from the hood to Earth and sweet gravity did the rest. I forgot how many stitches he accrued that day and I believe that the resulting effects are barely noticeable.

My siblings and I dreaded seeing Dad picking us up from school in the wagon. While our classmates had parents driving new or at least silent running cars, Dad's vehicle stood out. I think he took great pride in picking us up that way. Dad enjoyed a good prank and this was probably one of the best. Dad enjoyed the looks from other people, the snooty moms of my school mates giving him amazed looks that something in that shape actually moved and that he was willing to put his children inside it for travel.

It had four wheels and it ran, which was all he needed. A hearty burst of gas and we'd be flying down the road, streaming a long cloud of noxious fumes in our wake, the growing vocals of the Man in Black crooning a sorrowful song to those ahead while the car's glugging sound grew more distant to those behind us.

Dad would let us steer the car in empty parking lots on Saturday mornings. To say that I learned to drive in this car wouldn't be fair, though I think my twin would say it explains a lot when he talks of my driving skills. I thank God for power steering.

Eventually, Dad sold the car. I have no idea how much he got for it, but if it was even a couple of hundred, he made money on it. Today, I'm sure that car would not be allowed on the road. It had no seat belts and couldn't pass an air quality exam on Jupiter. No self-respecting car insurance company would touch it. Still, it would almost be worth it to have on blocks in the yard. Not necessarily my yard, but my sister could use it to show my nephew just how lucky he is to have a mom who drives a Blazer.

Comments

[ricksf.livejournal.com]

Gad the memories. My father and yours clearly went to the same car ownership training classes. In my case, the car was a 2 door 1953 Ford coupe in a faded green (my father insisted that the fading was due to an unsuccessful Ford experimental paint). The Ford had rust. No, correction, the rust was in the general shape of a Ford. Gaping holes in the bumpers and under the doors on both sides. At some point, the body settled, which in turn allowed the passenger's side door to unexpectedly fly open on corners. My father's solution - used a thick dog collar to strap the door frame to the rear pillar. In worked. Except that windows on that side of the car had to be slightly open (to allow room for the dog collar) which meant that when it rained, it would rain on anyone on that side of the car. You also had to enter and exit on the drivers side which always made for a circus clown comedy exit whenever we'd arrive somewhere.

I think my father would have owned the car until he died (or until it just collapsed one day into a pile of rust) were it not for the fact that it would, from time to time, inexplicably stop running. Often on the highway. That scared the bejeezus out of my mother and she insisted on the Ford's burial.

BTW, the car in the icon is very similar to my mother's Rambler, the 'good' car. But that's another story...

[mikiedoggie.livejournal.com]

This is a fantastic story! I believe it, my Dad was very similar to yours regarding his love of crappy old cars. Amazing!

[texwriterbear.livejournal.com]

What an awesome story Mark. Great memories.

[sunbeam-bears.livejournal.com]

I love your story!