Measurement of a Man: Motors, Horse Power, Mufflers and More
In order to understand the really diverse men in my life, I try to size them up by using their personal relationships with their cars.
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 shown any affection for machinery. Although raised to be a gentleman, motors and gears had a way of bringing out the inner savage. Some of my oldest memories involve my dad hunched over some engine, cussing out the Industrial Age.
Dad would change tires on our VW camper vans when necessary, but would never have been one to fawn over chrome grill work or aftermarket center caps. He might pour some water in the radiator or dab Rust-oleum on oxidized spots on our van, but scrubbing up headlights with toothbrushes or guiding Q-Tips around dashboard knobs were not things that happened in our garage.
But Then, my father-in-law is definitely 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 Saturday afternoon would be checking out a 1962 Chevrolet at a local Antique Club Car Show or scrubbing his own whitewalls.
He graduated speedily from a teething ring to a pitchfork and pliers while growing up in a rural area of northern Pennsylvania. Learning all about animal farming and the ABCs of mechanics was required 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 choice to leave the farm and go to college and he never looked back.
My hubby is a professor like his pop and his father-in-law, but that is where the resemblance ends. He does not camp, collect rocks or meticulously clean his vehicles. His idea of a good afternoon is sipping coffee at Starbucks, grading tests and tripping along the bunny trails that are Facebook.
He keeps his car full of gasoline, but would probably use center caps for paperweights instead of using them to pimp his ride. He makes it a point to vacuum-clean his car once in a while and doesn't mind driving around with "Wash me!" on the back window indefinitely.
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 shown any affection for machinery. Although raised to be a gentleman, motors and gears had a way of bringing out the inner savage. Some of my oldest memories involve my dad hunched over some engine, cussing out the Industrial Age.
Dad would change tires on our VW camper vans when necessary, but would never have been one to fawn over chrome grill work or aftermarket center caps. He might pour some water in the radiator or dab Rust-oleum on oxidized spots on our van, but scrubbing up headlights with toothbrushes or guiding Q-Tips around dashboard knobs were not things that happened in our garage.
But Then, my father-in-law is definitely 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 Saturday afternoon would be checking out a 1962 Chevrolet at a local Antique Club Car Show or scrubbing his own whitewalls.
He graduated speedily from a teething ring to a pitchfork and pliers while growing up in a rural area of northern Pennsylvania. Learning all about animal farming and the ABCs of mechanics was required 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 choice to leave the farm and go to college and he never looked back.
My hubby is a professor like his pop and his father-in-law, but that is where the resemblance ends. He does not camp, collect rocks or meticulously clean his vehicles. His idea of a good afternoon is sipping coffee at Starbucks, grading tests and tripping along the bunny trails that are Facebook.
He keeps his car full of gasoline, but would probably use center caps for paperweights instead of using them to pimp his ride. He makes it a point to vacuum-clean his car once in a while and doesn't mind driving around with "Wash me!" on the back window indefinitely.
The young man that my daughter dates is a pepped up version of my father-in-law. When I have the opportunity, I am going to send them to an auto parts store together so they can quickly bond. My daughter gave her boyfriend a performance exhaust kit for his birthday and he is excited that the exhaust rumbles deeply. He says it lets everybody know he's arrived. My daughter grins saying, "I can hear him coming from more than a mile away." It's obvious that she's in the throes of young love!
It's true that men and the relationships they have with their cars are complicated. It seems that their relationships can be an reflection of some men's masculinity, while other men treat their cars as an adversary that's a nuisance that must be conquered or suffered.
Many men blaspheme their automobiles and some name them. Many men give their cars heaps of TLC while some fight for bragging rights because their vehicle has the highest mileage or is the most beat up. Men exchange car stories over beers, just like war tales are shared at the campfire.
Why else is the auto industry able to sell billions of dollars of chrome, mag wheels, seat covers, backup sensors, window tinting, fancy headlamps, dash accoutrements and aftermarket center caps, tailpipes, hoods, car alarms and decals?
Whether the wheels in the driveway are fodder for cussing or cooing, I think there's some inevitable mechanical mojo going on - something akin to "If you build it, he will come."
It's true that men and the relationships they have with their cars are complicated. It seems that their relationships can be an reflection of some men's masculinity, while other men treat their cars as an adversary that's a nuisance that must be conquered or suffered.
Many men blaspheme their automobiles and some name them. Many men give their cars heaps of TLC while some fight for bragging rights because their vehicle has the highest mileage or is the most beat up. Men exchange car stories over beers, just like war tales are shared at the campfire.
Why else is the auto industry able to sell billions of dollars of chrome, mag wheels, seat covers, backup sensors, window tinting, fancy headlamps, dash accoutrements and aftermarket center caps, tailpipes, hoods, car alarms and decals?
Whether the wheels in the driveway are fodder for cussing or cooing, I think there's some inevitable mechanical mojo going on - something akin to "If you build it, he will come."
by centercaps
centercaps
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