Cars

My husband is a car guy. Car guys watch car show on PBS, read car magazines by the dozens, talk about cars, work on cars, think about cars, dream about cars and have car photos NEAR THEIR SIDE OF THE BED WHICH HAPPENS TO MATCH THE COLORS OF THE BEDROOM!

Deep breath in! I digress.

He never wanted his son to work on cars. He wanted more for him.

Last year, he bought a shell of a car. It hardly even looked like a car. It is a 1966 Ford Mustang convertible, which had been stored in a barn for over 10 years. When they had it towed to the shop, the first order of business was to remove all the dead mice. Then, they began to strip everything from the car.

William is now scheduling time away from touring to work on this car with his dad. It has been an amazing process to watch as a mom. When something new happens like a car part is found, phone conversations ensue. The 8-track was taken out and restored. It is even beginning to look like a car.

When William was young, Michael was working his brains out. I was the parent to set the schedule and rules. I was the education tsar. I was the one who raised him. I was the one keeping all the balls in the air.

When he turned 8-years old, Michael became part of his life a bit more. It was during a very difficult time in the extended family.

The three of us traveled a lot, ate out at renowned restaurants, toured cities, and stayed in fancy hotels.

I didn’t realize at the time that we lived in an area of mostly established older parents. There were very few children his age and we sent him to non-local schools. He didn’t have a lot of friends who weren’t adults.

Even though we went a lot of places together, it was a lonely childhood for him.

When he became a teenager, I told Michel that he was now the main parent. I knew he was going to spread his wings and his mother’s protective instincts wanted him home. So, whenever he wanted to do something or go somewhere, Michael always said yes while I kept my mouth shut. It was so hard. I had to let him go.

We live off a very busy highway. My mom always asks where in the world William is and laughs when she reminds me that I would not let him cross the main highway. Some years, he is on four continents. The irony is not lost on me.

It all comes full circle as I watched them go off to work together every morning during his visit over the holidays. Both were talking about what they were going to do that day and all they talked about at home was about the car.

I told William that he could never sell it. His children and grandchildren will drive it well after he and Michael are gone.

It was good to have him home under our roof. The house felt full again even if it is was for a short time.

Next: Underneath