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Pride, wheels, work and toil.

December 12, 2010

After I installed my slave cylinder and had my master cylinder replaced, I had to find a reason to hang out with a friend of mine.  We had gotten to know each other over my engine, and now I didn’t know if our friendship, as it was, would extend to “hanging out,” going for a drive, or having lunch together.

Thankfully, the friendship only grew stronger, and now I have somebody I can call on when I’m bored, or need someone to talk to, or need someone to get me out of the house.

He kind of reminds me of my dad–I know they would both like each other.

Here’s my friend, S., giving my battery cables the finger:

I am what you would call a “grease monkey.”

Whenever I go into a garage, I relish the scent that greets me.  Grease is my favorite smell.  I cannot explain it.  Alternators are my favorite car part.  I cannot explain that, either.

In January, I am starting school for Automotive.  I’ll get my certification, and possibly a degree in Automotive Business Management.  I keep thinking of my dad, and wishing I could call him and tell him all about it.  I miss him so much.   The other day, when my brake line failed me, I felt as though he was standing there, making sure that no one hit my car–making sure I was safe.  I want him to wake up.  I want that to be my Yule present.  Wake up, dad.

I take a lot of pride in my car.  I know she’s not much.  But she’s mine.

I get annoyed when people tell me I should get a new car.  Why?

This reminds me of America’s tendency to consume more than they need to.  Why should I get a new car when my engine still runs solid? If I can fix it, I keep it.  Period.

I have a lot of pride in my vehicle, because I have repaired so much of it myself.  When I look at the hoses, the belts, the alternator, all the little details that escape most people’s eyes, I think of my hard work, or my dad’s.  I see the rear fender, and the bolt that goes through it . . . That makes me think of Dad, because he fixed my fender with a bolt a year ago, when a tow truck accidentally pulled out my fender while I was being dragged from a ditch on an icy winter morning.  And now Dad’s asleep.  So whenever I see those parts of my car that he fixed, I think of him.

Knowing that my fortitude and my dedication keeps that car on the road, affords me pride.  Pride in myself for the hard work I’ve done, and pride for the fact that I haven’t had to buy a new car, that I’ve paid for my car myself, and that it is no one else’s but mine.  I have no loans for my car.  Midge belongs to me.

In January, I’m starting school, and it will be a whole new adventure.  I have a tendency to try to run from things when they get “scary.”  I’m not going to run from this.  I’m not going to think about the future.  I’m going to think only of today, and do my best.

Just this moment, and nothing else.

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