Measure of a Man: Engines, Ponies, Pipes and More
The men in my life are disparate, so when trying to size them up I use their relationships with cars as a path to help me understand them best.
My father is outdoorsy – a geologist by profession, although now retired. Nick a rock here. Gather a fossil there. He is a man’s man, but has never showed any fondness for machinery. Although raised to be a gentleman, motors and gears had a way of bringing out the inner beast. Some of my oldest memories involve my dad hunched over some motor, cursing out the Industrial Age.
My father would always change the tyres on our VW camper, but I never saw him fawning over aftermarket center caps or grille work. While he would occasionally dab some Rust-o-leum onto oxidized points on the van or put water in the radiator, you would never see him take a Q-tip to the dashboard knobs or scrub the headlights with a toothbrush.
But Then, my father-in-law is decidedly a car man. He can tell you the make, model and year of every vehicle that’s moved down the Pennsylvania turnpike. His ideal way to pass a Saturday afternoon would be checking out a 1962 Chevrolet at a local Antique Club Car Show or scrubbing his own whitewalls.
He graduated quickly from a pacifier to a pitchfork and pliers while growing up in a rural area of Pennsylvania. Learning all about animal husbandry and the ABCs of automobile mechanics was expected of young farm boys. His interest in things with gizmos, wheels, and motors seemed to stick even though any affection for animals did not. He made the choice to leave the farm and go to university and he never looked back.
My husband is a professor like his pop and his father-in-law, but that is where the resemblance stops. He does not camp, collect rocks or meticulously clean his vehicles. His idea of a good afternoon is sipping java at Starbucks, grading tests and traveling along the bunny trails that are Facebook.
He keeps his car full of gasoline, but would in all probability use his Ford center caps as paperweights on his desk, than as a trendy way to pimp his ride. Not that he has anything against anyone who obsesses over their center caps. He vacuums his vehicle twice a year, but is satisfied to drive about town with “Wash me!” scribbled above his rusty bumper for a year at a time.
The young man that my daughter dates is a pepped up version of my father-in-law. When I have the opportunity, I am going to send them to an auto parts store together so they can quickly bond. My daughter gave her boyfriend a performance exhaust kit for his birthday and he is thrilled that the exhaust growls deeply. He says it lets everyone know he’s arrived. My daughter grins saying, “I can hear him coming from more than a mile away.” It’s obvious that she’s in the throes of young love!
There’s not question that the relationships that men have with their cars can be complicated. On occasion, the car can be a manifestation of a man’s masculinity, while other men act as if their vehicles were a foe that are a nuisance to be subdued or at the very least, endured.
Many name their automobiles, and others blaspheme them. Some handle their vehicles with TLC, while others declare bragging rights because their car or truck is beat up or has the most mileage. Car stories are exchanged over beers, like war accounts used to be shared around a campfire.
Why else would the auto industry continually sell billions of dollars in decals, automobile alarms, hoods, tailpipes, center caps, dashboard accessories, trick headlamps, window tinting, backup sensors, seat covers, rims, and chrome?
Whether the wheels in the driveway are fodder for swearing or cooing, I think there’s some inescapable mechanistic mojo going on – Kind of like to “If you build it, he will come.”
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This entry was posted on Thursday, November 26th, 2009 at 4:27 am and is filed under General. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. Both comments and pings are currently closed.