I once had a car I called The Bastard. Though I denounced The Bastard because the cost of maintaining him as he aged grew larger than I’d have liked, I liked The Bastard. He was a dark blue, naturally-ugly beast with exterior styling charitably described as bland. His designers focused their attention inside, where his electronically-controlled leather seats could be adjusted so precisely it was impossible to be uncomfortable. His ride was smooth and quiet, providing an oasis of calm against a monstrously loud and jarring world outside the windows. The Bastard was an old-man’s car, reminiscent I suppose of the big old boats like Buicks and Oldsmobiles that old people drove when I was a youngster and even into my early adulthood. But I did not care. The Bastard may have been designed for an old man, but it suited me perfectly. When I drove him, I was comfortable. He was a powerful old beast, too, that could take me from a standstill to ninety in what seemed like an instant.
This morning, I am taking a much newer, and much less appealing, relative of The Bastard to a new garage to have something done about ongoing “issues” that should have been addressed long ago but, for reasons of ineptitude and thievery I guess, have not. I have no connection with this newer beast; I do not feel any love for it. Unlike The Bastard, this newer monstrosity is not alive, not coursing with emotions the way he was.
I miss The Bastard. If I could find him, I’d buy him back and spend the money to return him to his glory days. But, alas, that is not to be. So, I must now go out and drive his younger relation to the Toyota mechanic and hope I can love this one just a little…all he needs to do is respond well to the intervention.
My father had a Bastard, though it was called The Woody. A 1960 Ford, Country Squire, with simulated wood paneling. A really family car, that was! He loved that 8 cylinder, gas guzzling, metal heavy (very little plastic back then, remember?) station-wagon, John, as you loved The Bastard! All family vacation took place in that big ole car. Years later everyone asked when he was going to sell it, even as it aged, people would knock on the front door asking him if he was interesting in selling it. His, answer, never! He said it carried way too many memories to sell to anyone…known, and worse, an unknown buyer! And, well, good to his word, when he passed The Woody was still sitting in the driveway of his home 32 years later….
That pleases me, Larry! I am glad you like it. You would have liked The Bastard, I think; he was a good guy.
I like this post.