Mitch
Aug 10th, 2004, 05:01:24 PM
Today, after a relationship that lasted over eight years, the love of my life is gone for good.
No, she's not a girl, she was a car. But not just any car, she was my car. A 1967 Ford Falcon four-door automatic who had a lot of faults, but I could look past them, and see her for the beauty she was.
I got her back when I was fifteen, and the paint was oxidized, the tires were shot, and the windshield cracked; all things I fixed very quickly. But, she mainly just sat there, due to my lack of license.
My dad kept telling me he'd help me fix her, and gave me hope that someday she'd be a great car, and what I had wanted back when I got her. It's really because of him that I bought the car in the first place, for he used to be a mechanic and convinced me that everything on it was fixable.
A few years later, after my major car wreck that totalled my Mazda, my dad offered to fix the Falcon for me, FINALLY. Well, he fixed it, all right. If fixed means rigging it so badly and cheaply that it blows up the radiator, and the radiator hose, and nearly cuases the engine block to crack. Yeah, thanks, dad. You freaking killed my car!
So, then it was my turn. New radiator taken from a Dodge truck (hey, I bodged it CORRECTLY, so don't laugh), I also replaced the starter, alternator, fuel pump, carburator, battery, distributor, master cylinder, and a few other things in the engine, as well as replacing the rear suspension with air shocks, which lifted her a little, but made the ride a whole loght tighter, and the handling improved greatly.
She was runnign well for a while, until the engine began to go afoul again, and I finally had to stop driving her, and tried to save up for an engine rebuild, then, just as I was about ready and finally got the carburator to work, we moved, and today I got to watch as a guy I'd never met before towed away my most prozed posession to somewhere where she'll probably get parted out, then crushed, and I had to pay him fifty dollars to do it.
I hate my dad. I hate him so much. I kept that car, and worked so hard on it in an attempt to get her up to fully running and good status, and finally make her the dream I had back in the beginning, and at least pretend that he helped me fix it. Pretend that it actually was the father/son project it was supposed to be. Pretend that my dad was ever there to help, and pretend that maybe even jsut one of his promises would come true.
As I watched the tow truck leave, that dream died, and I was left with a piece of junk Corolla that I wished had been latched to the truck instead. Thanks a lot, dad. Thanks for lying to me once again.
---
Here are a few pictures of my wonderful former car.
<img src=http://www.nehantish.com/Falcon.jpg>
No, she's not a girl, she was a car. But not just any car, she was my car. A 1967 Ford Falcon four-door automatic who had a lot of faults, but I could look past them, and see her for the beauty she was.
I got her back when I was fifteen, and the paint was oxidized, the tires were shot, and the windshield cracked; all things I fixed very quickly. But, she mainly just sat there, due to my lack of license.
My dad kept telling me he'd help me fix her, and gave me hope that someday she'd be a great car, and what I had wanted back when I got her. It's really because of him that I bought the car in the first place, for he used to be a mechanic and convinced me that everything on it was fixable.
A few years later, after my major car wreck that totalled my Mazda, my dad offered to fix the Falcon for me, FINALLY. Well, he fixed it, all right. If fixed means rigging it so badly and cheaply that it blows up the radiator, and the radiator hose, and nearly cuases the engine block to crack. Yeah, thanks, dad. You freaking killed my car!
So, then it was my turn. New radiator taken from a Dodge truck (hey, I bodged it CORRECTLY, so don't laugh), I also replaced the starter, alternator, fuel pump, carburator, battery, distributor, master cylinder, and a few other things in the engine, as well as replacing the rear suspension with air shocks, which lifted her a little, but made the ride a whole loght tighter, and the handling improved greatly.
She was runnign well for a while, until the engine began to go afoul again, and I finally had to stop driving her, and tried to save up for an engine rebuild, then, just as I was about ready and finally got the carburator to work, we moved, and today I got to watch as a guy I'd never met before towed away my most prozed posession to somewhere where she'll probably get parted out, then crushed, and I had to pay him fifty dollars to do it.
I hate my dad. I hate him so much. I kept that car, and worked so hard on it in an attempt to get her up to fully running and good status, and finally make her the dream I had back in the beginning, and at least pretend that he helped me fix it. Pretend that it actually was the father/son project it was supposed to be. Pretend that my dad was ever there to help, and pretend that maybe even jsut one of his promises would come true.
As I watched the tow truck leave, that dream died, and I was left with a piece of junk Corolla that I wished had been latched to the truck instead. Thanks a lot, dad. Thanks for lying to me once again.
---
Here are a few pictures of my wonderful former car.
<img src=http://www.nehantish.com/Falcon.jpg>