The Reluctant Mechanic
I’ll never forget what my dad called himself once: a reluctant mechanic, he said. He always hated working on our cars because he had to, perhaps because he’d once had the experience of working on a car because he wanted to.
See, my dad was a race car driver before I was born. He was friends with a guy who drove a race car, and that friend gave him his old race car and got him started. My dad — the guy who hates doing so much as an oil change on his or my mom’s car now — took that engine apart, cleaned it, and put it all back together countless times. He used to haul his race car to races on a trailer pulled by a big Ford van.
I didn’t used to understand what had happened to his love of cars, but now I do. When I was younger, living at home, and had tons of time and money and energy to spend on my car, I loved working on it. Now that I’m busy and have bills to pay, working on my car has lost its appeal. Now I actually rather prefer writing about cars!
June 28th, 2008 at 2:58 am
[...] dad, the reluctant mechanic, was reluctant about some other things too. I remember as a kid, getting a Fort Lauderdale [...]