"the car"

Things that trigger memories part 2.

In the previous post I talked about my mother’s sewing machine. This post is about my Daddy’s car.

Daddy grew up poor and worked hard all of his life. As an adult his car represented volumes to him. He took great pride in owning and taking care of a car. He put a lot into the upkeep and maintenance on his car. He never missed an oil change, tire rotation or let the gas tank get below half a tank.

He would drive all the way across town to the same service station for his gas and to have the car serviced. His cars lasted years beyond what most cars last. Anyone knowing my Dad and finding out he was going to get a newer car would let him know that they wanted first dibs on the old one because it would have been taken such good care of.

Many men like my Dad who put such store by a car would never have done what my Daddy did for two teenage girls.

My sister and I learned how to drive in my Daddy’s car. No automatic transmissions back then. We had to learn to use a clutch. Can you imagine how hard it must have been to have his car treated the way a new just learning teenagerer treated it?

We were allowed to take his car to school and on errands. In order for us to drive to school, meant that he was without a car for work. We would take him to work, drive to and from school and go pick him up from work.

One time I took that car for a spin, downtown on the drag one night without permission and rear-ended another car. I thought I was doomed. I thought I had done the unforgivable, I had damaged “the car”.

I had to call my Daddy and tell him where I was and what had happened. He didn’t yell, he just came and got me and my friends and took us home. He had the car fixed and I was still allowed to drive it.

He never brought it up again. Listen up parents of teenagers, I would have rather he had beat me with a whip, I knew how much he loved that car and I had damaged it and he did more by not saying anything than if he had ranted and raved at me. I never wanted to cause him hurt over that car again. (and didn’t until I was grown, and married with a baby but that is another story)

Again, knowing how much his car meant to him, two teenaged girls were made to feel that they were of equal and/or greater value to their father than even his beloved car.

He could be a cantankerous old fart, but there was never a doubt in the mind of two little girls and later as teenagers where we stood with our Daddy.

Even in his declining years on earth and with dementia, not always knowing who we were, there were the times when he was mentally alert and would tell us how much he appreciated and loved his girls.

Even to this day, and both of us Grandmothers, we miss him and where ever he may be, we are still Daddy's girls.