"My earliest recollection of the family car was nothing short of a shrine." God Bless America |
My earliest recollection of the family car was nothing short of a shrine. You
did not park you bicycle within a 10 foot proximity. You never leaned against
the shiny fenders as you conversed with your hoodlum friends. To ask my farther
for a ride somrwhere resulted in the standard, "Your legs ain't
broke, are they boy?" If my old man wasn't pulling triple-overtime on Saturday
at the steel mill, our family ritual was "washing the car."Now I will say this about the old boy, he had style. The first car I was enlisted into the "Scrub Squad" was a 1965 Oldsmobile 442 Convertible. But the car I scrubbed more than any other was a 1969 Ford Torino GT. As a spry 9 year old, my mission was to climb up the back seat and clean the rear window. Upon completing that task, Pops would walk me though the "proper" method necessary to insure a clean car. The methods Pops drilled into me still enable me to keep my own 30 year car looking presentable. Which brings us back to the initial point regarding the "Stickerd Cars" I have encountered. Who the Hell is driving these cars? Is a car more important than a child? Of course not. What irks me is that expensive vehicles are treated like a "Chucky Cheeses" on wheels. This is not the kids fault, perhaps the parents never learned to respect anything. As for myself, I am going to clean my 30 year old glass with vinegar and newspaper. That's how Pops used to do it.  webmaster@mydailydriver.com |
