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The speedometers of the first car I ever owned and the last one that I will probably ever buy are shown here, one on top of the other; they are reminders of my fascination with automobiles for as far back as I can remember and examples of what still revs my inner motor.
Let me explain; it all began with Tonka trucks and toy cars I could push around on the floor or outside in the dirt until I got a little older and graduated to assembling plastic model car kits that I would display on window ledges and shelves in my bedroom. They were usually the cars I dreamed of owning someday and the aroma of Testor's model cement and paint wafting from my room and filling other rooms were usually cause for someone to pound on the door and complain that I was stinking up the entire house with my hobby, and sometimes my mother worried that I would inhale too much of it and eventually kill off a lot of brain cells that would be needed someday for more important projects. But that never happened as far as I can tell, even though some might wage an entirley different debate about that.
I couldn't begin to remember how many kits I put together during those formidable years, but I think I probably ended up buying even more real ones. All in all I have owned more than 60 (mostly Ford's) since I got my first set of wheels and that one was a 1960 Ford Falcon that I have bragged about since the day I got it when I was still too young to get my temporary driving permit. It was May, 1968 and all of my experience from building 1/24 scale replicas before that summer helped when it came to understanding where parts were supposed to be whenever I needed to replace one or work on something to keep it running.
What began as a child's hobby in my bedroom in the early 1960s eventually escalated into a similar one in a bigger workshop near the end of the decade, and over the years I viewed them all as giant metal versions of all of those plastic kits I used to buy for a buck and a half. (It seemed I was always wanting, or needing new parts to either glue together or bolt on to get one finished.) If any of this sounds weird to the reader then consider that I grew up surrounded by weirdos because nearly all of my friends were a lot like me! (At least in that regard.)
Almost every kid I knew (except for the girls) blew a lot of their allowances and money they earned from mowing lawns or delivering newspapers on model cars, and then when we were old enough to get real ones it went to title transfers, insurance and things like baby moon hubcaps, pinstripes and after-market dash gauges.
For many of us something that needed spark plugs to fire gasoline to make engines and transmissions spin to get us humming down the road was as important as almost anything else! And for rabid car guys it was sometimes what mattered most! As curious as it may sound, even what girls may have had on their minds for me to do may have finished a close second; even though there were times when that could have been a toss-up!
However, none came before my car if it wasn't running as it should or if I had an idea to make it look better. There were times when I would even back away from asking one for a date if I only had enough extra money to buy a can of Turtle Wax and a few polishing cloths.
I would like to believe that Falcon was most of the reason my first serious girlfriend was always dating other guys and maybe why she eventually walked away from our high school romance for good; because if that's what it was about then I am fine with how everything turned out because I can look back on it without feeling like I either failed her or simply wasn't good enough for her. I mean after all, I wasn't a horribly looking kid and if it was because she thought I usually smelled bad or always looked dirty then so be it! I may have smelled like gasoline and oil and maybe my fingernails were caked with dirty grease at times, but if she found any of that repugnant then I could have argued the same about her perfume and make-up, but I rarely did.
Let me explain; it all began with Tonka trucks and toy cars I could push around on the floor or outside in the dirt until I got a little older and graduated to assembling plastic model car kits that I would display on window ledges and shelves in my bedroom. They were usually the cars I dreamed of owning someday and the aroma of Testor's model cement and paint wafting from my room and filling other rooms were usually cause for someone to pound on the door and complain that I was stinking up the entire house with my hobby, and sometimes my mother worried that I would inhale too much of it and eventually kill off a lot of brain cells that would be needed someday for more important projects. But that never happened as far as I can tell, even though some might wage an entirley different debate about that.
I couldn't begin to remember how many kits I put together during those formidable years, but I think I probably ended up buying even more real ones. All in all I have owned more than 60 (mostly Ford's) since I got my first set of wheels and that one was a 1960 Ford Falcon that I have bragged about since the day I got it when I was still too young to get my temporary driving permit. It was May, 1968 and all of my experience from building 1/24 scale replicas before that summer helped when it came to understanding where parts were supposed to be whenever I needed to replace one or work on something to keep it running.
What began as a child's hobby in my bedroom in the early 1960s eventually escalated into a similar one in a bigger workshop near the end of the decade, and over the years I viewed them all as giant metal versions of all of those plastic kits I used to buy for a buck and a half. (It seemed I was always wanting, or needing new parts to either glue together or bolt on to get one finished.) If any of this sounds weird to the reader then consider that I grew up surrounded by weirdos because nearly all of my friends were a lot like me! (At least in that regard.)
Almost every kid I knew (except for the girls) blew a lot of their allowances and money they earned from mowing lawns or delivering newspapers on model cars, and then when we were old enough to get real ones it went to title transfers, insurance and things like baby moon hubcaps, pinstripes and after-market dash gauges.
For many of us something that needed spark plugs to fire gasoline to make engines and transmissions spin to get us humming down the road was as important as almost anything else! And for rabid car guys it was sometimes what mattered most! As curious as it may sound, even what girls may have had on their minds for me to do may have finished a close second; even though there were times when that could have been a toss-up!
However, none came before my car if it wasn't running as it should or if I had an idea to make it look better. There were times when I would even back away from asking one for a date if I only had enough extra money to buy a can of Turtle Wax and a few polishing cloths.
I would like to believe that Falcon was most of the reason my first serious girlfriend was always dating other guys and maybe why she eventually walked away from our high school romance for good; because if that's what it was about then I am fine with how everything turned out because I can look back on it without feeling like I either failed her or simply wasn't good enough for her. I mean after all, I wasn't a horribly looking kid and if it was because she thought I usually smelled bad or always looked dirty then so be it! I may have smelled like gasoline and oil and maybe my fingernails were caked with dirty grease at times, but if she found any of that repugnant then I could have argued the same about her perfume and make-up, but I rarely did.
In the end she married someone else and had several babies and I married someone else and had a lot of cars. I also had a few kids to play with when I wasn't busy in the garage so it all worked out best for us both. But eventually the kids grew and went on to pursue their own dreams and here I am still reflecting on my own by writing about them and sharing them in books and blogs.
Sometimes I look up and down both sides of my street, and for 2 blocks in either direction I think about all of the cars I have owned and if I still had them all there would be no place for anyone else to park. When I think of all of the speedometers I kept watch on through the years none of them ever said more about my passion for cars as the one in that first 1960 Falcon.
I miss that little compact car, and I think many of us feel that way about our first cars. But now when I climb behind the wheel of what I have in the garage and think of all of the years that have passed I smile because this one is more to me than just what it might look to someone else; this isn't just a car, in some ways it is the glass, the sheet-metal, the rubber and the plastic of what little boys dream of when all of those fantasies are about where we hope to go in life, how we will arrive and what we can build along the way.
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