I have a few important men in my life that are all very disparate. In order to size them up, I have employed the relationships that each of them has with automobiles in order to understand them a little better.
My father is outdoorsy – a geologist by profession, although now retired. Chip a rock here. Collect a fossil there. He is a man’s man, but has never showed any fondness for machinery. Although brought up to be a gentleman, motors and gears had a way of bringing out the inner beast. Some of my oldest memories involve my dad bent over some motor, cussing out the Industrial Age.
My father would always switch the tyres on our VW camper, but I never saw him fawning over aftermarket center caps or grille work. While he would occasionally dab some Rust-o-leum onto oxidized points on the van or put H2O in the radiator, you would never see him take a Q-tip to the dashboard knobs or scrub the headlamps with a toothbrush.
On the other hand, my father-in-law is a complete car man through & through. I wouldn’t be surprised if he knew every make, model, and year of every automobile that ever travelled the Pennsylvania turnpike. He is happy to spend a Saturday afternoon admiring cars at an Antique Car Club Show or scouring the whitewalls on his car.
Growing up in rural northern Pennsylvania, he speedily graduated from pacifier to wrench and pitchfork. Farm boys learned the ABCs of mechanics along with animal husbandry at an early age. The affinity with motors and wheels and all the associated gadgets stuck, although fondness for animals did not. He left the farm to go to college and never looked back.
My hubby is a teacher, just like his father and my father, but that is where their similarities end. He doesn’t meticulously clean his cars, collect rocks, or go camping. He likes to spend Saturdays enjoy java at a local Starbuck, marking papers, and catching up with friends on Facebook.
He has no problem putting petrol in his car, but he would in all probability keep his American Racing center caps as door stops in his office before he would pimp his ride with them. No disrespect if you’re a center cap mind you. He makes the time to vacuum-clean his car just twice a year and doesn’t mind riding around with the words “wash me” scrawled someplace in the grime on his car.
Our daughter’s boyfriend is exactly like my father in law, but a little more juiced. He got a high performance exhaust kit as a gift last month and has been thrilled ever since beyond his tailpipe rumbles deeply. You can tell that our daughter is in the throes of love when you listen to her talk about how you can hear him approaching from a mile away.
There’s not doubt that the relationships that men have with their cars can be complex. On occasion, the car can be a reflection of a man’s masculinity, while other men act as if their vehicles were a foe that are a nuisance to be subdued or at the very least, endured.
Many men blaspheme their cars and others name them. Many men give their cars plenty of TLC while some fight for bragging rights because their vehicle has the highest mileage or is the ultimate beater. Men swap car stories over beers, just like war stories are shared at the campfire.
Why else would the auto industry continually sell billions of dollars in decals, auto alarms, hoods, exhausts, center caps, dash accoutrements, fancy headlamps, window tint, backup sensors, seat covers, rims, and chrome?
Whether the vehicle in the driveway is fuel for cursing or cooing, I’m prone to believe there’s some kind of mechanised mojo in there – something reminiscent to “If you build it, he will come.”