Baby, You Can Drive My Car

My dad loved cars. It was always a Cadillac for him and an Impala for my mother. He leased for decades because he wanted new cars every two years. It drove my mother nuts and eventually, after he retired, my dad finally agreed to pay for two cars and drop out of the musical cars game. He bought a Cadillac for himself and a Mercedes for my mom. My mother was so happy to finally own her car. 

I vividly remember my parents getting into it a few times when my dad would disappear with my mother's car and show up with a new one. My mom was not appreciative of losing the car she was happy with for a new model. Without her knowledge, no less. I really wonder how she never snapped on my dad sometimes. But dammit, Mr. CFC was going to go big or go home and that included extravagant gifts for the people he loved whether they liked it or not. He even tried having the car dealer deliver a new car and pick up her "old" one once, hoping to avoid any drama. Yeah, how'd that work out for you, old man? My mother became friends with the car salesman and started inviting him and his family to parties and dinners but didn't speak to my dad for quite awhile. Bernie and her silent treatment. Now there was a good time. 

I actually never understood how my mother could be what appeared to be so ungrateful for her fancy new cars. Until my husband disappeared with a few of our cars and showed up with new ones. Unlike my mother, I was not a stewer or steamer. I was a snapper. Bob and I found our common ground regarding cars pretty quickly after the second vanishing car act and that was the end of that malarkey.

This guy. He was seriously a lot to handle but boy do I miss him and the wonderful tomfoolery that followed him wherever he went. I really hope when he got to heaven God didn't mind when Mr. CFC disappeared with his chariot only to show up with a new Cadillac.

My dad also had a thing about Jeeps. I think they made him feel like the hunter/cowboy/macho man he actually was. He loved them and bought one as soon as he bought the little cattle ranch in Oro Grande. This is when I learned to drive. I loved that red Jeep. It was a blast to drive and since we were out in the middle of nowhere, my dad, after giving me a few lessons at just thirteen years old, handed me the keys and turned me loose. I wasn't allowed to cross the railroad tracks which lead into town but otherwise I was free to drive the square mile that our ranch was a part of. It was glorious freedom for thirteen year old me. My mother disagreed with my dad and didn't like her unlicensed kid behind the wheel of a vehicle with no roof no less. At the time, I thought my mother was really mean to my dad and of course, I worshipped my dad. Now, looking back years later, I realize my mother knew what she was talking about and was trying to save me from killing myself. She wasn't wrong. I may have been a bit brave once or twice and crossed those tracks. I may have even lived to regret it without my parents ever finding out. But that's a story for another day.