I have several important men in my life that are all very distinct. In an effort to size them up, I have employed the relationships that each of them has with autos in order to understand them a little better.
My own father has always been very outdoorsy, which fit him perfectly. He worked as a biologist, but is retired now. Pick up a fossil here; chipping a rock there, that’s my pop. He never managed to grow any affection for machinery. He was raised by his parents to act like a gentleman, but engines and geartrains seemed to bring out the worst in him. I have early memories of him swearing the Industrial Age as he was bent over an engine.
My father would regularly switch the tyres on our Volkswagen camper, but I never saw him fawning over aftermarket center caps or grille work. While he would now and again dab some Rust-o-leum onto oxidized places 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.
Then Again, my father-in-law is a complete car man through and through. I wouldn’t be stunned if he knew every make, model, and year of every car that ever graced the Pennsylvania turnpike. He is happy to spend a Weekend afternoon admiring cars at an Antique Car Club Rally or scrubbing the whitewalls on his car.
He grew up in rural northern Pennsylvania and graduated rapidly from a teething ring to a pitchfork and pliers. Where he grew up, farm boys were required to learn everything they could about animal husbandry and mechanics. He has maintained his passion for gizmos, wheels, and motors, but has no interest in animals. He left the farm, never looking back, and went to college.
My hubby is a professor, just like his father and my father, but that is where their similarities finish. He doesn’t meticulously clean his cars, collect rocks, or go camping. He likes to spend Saturdays enjoy coffee at a local Starbuck, marking papers, and connecting with friends on Facebook.
He keeps his car full of gas, but would in all likelihood use his American Racing center caps for paper weights instead of using them to floss his ride. No offense to hard working wheel center caps. He makes it a point to vacuum his car once in a while and doesn’t mind driving around with “Wash me!” on the back window indefinitely.
The young man that my daughter dates is a jazzed up version of my father-in-law. When I have the chance, 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 smiles 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 doubt that the relationships that men have with their cars can be complicated. On occasion, the car can be a manifestation of a man’s maleness, while other men act as if their vehicles were a foe that are a nuisance to be conquered or at the very least, tolerated.
Some men give their cars names and others curse them. Some give their cars a deal of TLC and others claim bragging rights because their car or truck is a total beater or has the most mileage. Car stories are sold over beers, like war stories used to be shared at the campfire.
This is the reason the auto industry sells billions of dollars worth of window tinting, aftermarket center caps, dashboard accessories, chrome, seat covers, wheels, car alarms, backup sensors, hoods, tailpipes, and decals.
Whether the wheels in the driveway are fodder for cursing 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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