I have several significant men in my life that are all very distinct. In order to size them up, I have used the relationships that each of them has with cars in order to understand them a little better.
My father has now retired, but was a professional geologist. He has always been really outdoorsy. He’s best-known for chipping a rock here, collect a fossil over there. He is unquestionably a man’s man, but has never been very attached of any kind of machinery. Gears and motors have a way of producing his inner savage even though he is a real gentleman. I can remember times when I was very young, seeing my dad with his head under the hood of a car and hearing him swearing at the Industrial Age.
My father would always change the tyres on our Volkswagen camper, but I never saw him fawning over aftermarket center caps or grille work. While he would from time to time dab some Rust-o-leum onto oxidized spots 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 headlights with a toothbrush.
On the other hand, my father-in-law is unquestionably a car man. He can tell you the make, model and year of every vehicle that’s traveled down the Pennsylvania turnpike. His ideal way to pass a Sunday afternoon would be checking out a 1962 Chevy at a local Antique Club Car Show or scrubbing his own whitewalls.
He graduated speedily from a teething ring to a pitchfork and wrench while growing up in a rural area of Pennsylvania. Learning all about animal farming and the ABCs of mechanics was expected of young farm boys. His interest in things with gizmos, wheels, and motors seemed to stick even though any fondness for animals did not. He made the decision to leave the farm and go to university and he never looked back.
My hubby is a teacher like his pop and his father-in-law, but that is where the resemblance ends. He does not camp, collect rocks or meticulously wash his vehicles. His idea of a good Sunday is sipping coffee at Starbucks, marking tests and traveling along the bunny trails that are Facebook.
He puts fuel in the car, but would be more likely to employ his American Racing center caps as paperweights 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 his car just twice a year and doesn’t mind riding around with the words “wash me” scribbled somewhere in the dirt on his car.
My daughter’s boyfriend is a juiced up variation of my father-in-law. (I think they would bond quickly if sent together on an errand to a car parts shop.) The Boyfriend got a performance exhaust kit for Christmas and is pleased now that his car’s exhaust rumbles deeply, letting everyone know he has arrived. “I can hear him coming a mile away,” my daughter grins, plainly in the throes of young love.
There’s not question that the relationships that men have with their cars can be complicated. 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 conquered or at the very least, endured.
Many men blaspheme their automobiles and some name them. Some men give their cars plenty of TLC while some fight for bragging rights because their vehicle has the highest mileage or is the most beat up. Men swap car stories over beers, just like war tales are 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 ride in the drive is the reason for cooing or swearing, there has to be some kind of mechanical mojo happening - something like, “if you build it, he will come.”