You'd think I had brought home a corvette by his reaction. We've been talking about this project for a while now - exchanging ideas about what kind of vehicle to work on. He even brought home a book full of classic American cars from school for inspiration. Ultimately, practicality has teamed up with boyhood daydreams and decided that we're going to work on a 1985 Chevy pick-up. Not that I'm complaining in the least. I've been not coveting another truck ever since we sold the previous one in exchange for every man's dream-machine a.k.a. mini-van. And yes I might as well have bought myself a new corvette judging by my own reaction. Perhaps the nut doesn't fall far from the coco - or something like that.
I can't tell you what pure joy it brought my heart to see my son ask me for the keys so he could check it out. I gave him his space for a few minutes and then came out to find him firmly planted in the driver's seat, legs extended in an attempt to reach the pedals while craning his neck to help see over the steering wheel. I knocked on the passenger window and he unlocked the door to let me in. Sitting there beside him produced two simultaneous thoughts intersecting each other in rapid succession: 1) This is going to be so cool to do with him, and 2) I'm gonna have to teach this kid how to drive - better pray a lot!
The truck is in decent shape for its age, it was even driven - however tenderly - to our house. It has a flat tire and all four have roughly the same traction you'd get form a porcelain cherub's bottom. The interior needs a remarkable cleaning and the engine needs a pile of tlc. I fully expect bloody knuckles, a few choice words between the two of us, multiple trips to the parts store followed by multiple trips to the parts store to actually get the right part, and a lot of joy.
My prayer is that we get to tinker and fix the truck to produce a great father/son friendship.