My son and his family visited us today, and we had supper together. We were all talking when the subject came around to the new (old) pickup my son recently bought. Before I relate the following conversation between my husband and my son, I want to explicitly express that their opinions are not mine. When choosing a vehicle I have three criteria in mind: what color is it, what kind of gas mileage does it get, and will I be embarrassed driving it? The brand name doesn’t matter too much to me, just as long as my husband will agree to repairing it occasionally. Now that is the hitch, because my husband is a dyed-in-the-wool Chevrolet man. And he hates Fords.
My husband has been saving up some comments for the next time my son visited. He had heard about my son buying a 1978 Ford pickup with a Tommy-lift and a utility bed for tools on it. I had driven him to pick it up and followed him home, about 80 miles away. He had said not to bother following him, but I took one look at it and thought discretion was the better part of valor. I followed him. We stopped off at a business, and turning into their parking lot, the vehicle backfired and died. Dead. Some guys helped push it out of the street. He got it home the next day and has been working on it since. He still loves it. I think it must be the utility boxes on the bed. What wanna-be handyman wouldn’t love to get their hands on such, with a Tommy-lift to boot!
He brought one of those repair manuals with him today, and he and my husband spent several minutes discussing how to properly set the timing. All this while, my son was wearing a cap with the word Ford on it. Now, I’m thinking he’s wearing it to lovingly provoke my husband. The best defense is a good offense…
“You wouldn’t need that book if you had bought a Chevrolet,” my husband ventured. My son settled his Ford cap more securely on his head and ignored him.
My husband continued, “You know what Ford stands for, don’t you? Fix Or Repair Daily. Found On Roadside Dead. Fifth On Race Day.” He was on a roll and continued with some acronyms I won’t mention here.
My son retorted, “I’d rather push a Ford than drive a Chevrolet!”
My daughter-in-law took up for her auto, “Mine is a Good Mountain Climber!”
“You mean, Got Mechanic Coming,” my husband wasn’t to be outdone.
I’m so glad I’m not childish… My husband finished with his “fun,” and it was time for them to go. They all laughed, hugged and went on their way, all with a certain amount of satisfaction. I started to wonder “what and why” but my mind said, “Don’t bother, it’s not worth it.” Somehow, I don’t think the interaction was just about vehicles.