Vehicles sometimes resemble owners
Sometimes cars, trucks and other vehicles seem to take on personalities similar to their owners.
My Paw Paw used to say that the family station wagon was a lot like Maw Maw. With no working air conditioner, he said it was just a bunch of hot air. Maw Maw never much cared for the comparison.
But Paw Paw must have been on to something. Maw Maw had a red Ford station wagon. It was a pretty tough car that could haul around a bunch of people and stuff. It was an older vehicle, but it was dependable and still had a lot of life left to her.
It was like Maw Maw in a way. She is a spitfire, red as the wagon’s paint. She has spent the majority of her life hauling children and grandchildren around. Anytime she goes to town, she comes back loaded up with useless junk from every yard sale in town. And at 86, not much has changed. She’s still the same, only a little slower.
Paw Paw had an old Ford truck with yellow and white paint. It was kind of rusty, but I remember its engine sounded like new. It was covered with bumper stickers from visiting Ruby Falls, staying at a Disney World resort to who to vote for on election day.
Paw Paw was like an old country truck. The truck took up most of the space in the carport, and Paw Paw sucked all the air out of any room he entered. He had a presence when he entered a place. Paw Paw was old and his body was beat from diabetes and other illnesses, but he was strong and proud. And like a bumper sticker, it didn’t take long to see where Paw Paw had been and where he was going.
Momma always had cute, sporty cars. From a white convertible to a compact Honda, she liked fast and flashy. The cars always looked like a strong wind could knock them down, but they managed to keep their spot on the road.
Momma is like those compact speedsters. She is a petite, short lady who comes up to my chin. And I guess you could call her flashy with her alligator skin purses to her glittered high heels. She’s a small lady who may seem meek among other people. But trust me, she can handle her own.
My husband Jason has what I call a fleet. He and his brother share a multitude of trucks, tractors and other equipment. And each piece symbolizes the different moods you are bound to find Jason in.
There is one vehicle we call “Old Blue.” It’s a blue Chevy Z71, tough as nails and able to get through anything with its four-wheel drive. It has its share of scratches, dents and other eyesores. The radio can only pick up a few stations because it’s missing its antenna. And sometimes you have to talk to it real sweet to get it to crank.
Jason is kind of like that. I have to talk to him real sweet sometimes to get what I need done. He comes home from time to time with blood, scratches, briars and other marks on him. But its all just signs that he was working really hard on something. When music is not available, he will serenade anyone who will listen. And when times get tough, he steps up to the plate as if you just cranked up the four-wheel drive.
I’m not real sure if my Ford Explorer matches up with my personality. But I’m willing to make a little fun of myself.
All it takes is the wrong button pushed on its keychain, and it starts making all kinds of racket. It takes it a minute to get moving.
I guess I am kind of like my vehicle. When a wrong button gets pushed, Jason says I tend to make a lot of racket. And he also says I drag my feet with everything. It takes me a minute to get out the door.
Well, all that may be true. But at least my radio works.