at the car wash

Remember when cars were part of the family?  I mean not just transportation, but were actually part of the family?   When you went to visit Grandpa, you thought of his 1962 Coupe de Ville, and how it had a few touches of his that made it personal.  How Uncle Mose’s Olds was somehow different than the ones he routinely passed when riding with him.  How Nana’s 1967 Buick Skylark reflected her personality, she was a young widow, and just learned to drive in her fifties, and what better than a sporty two door hardtop, with a vinyl roof?  My father always had Ramblers, and once even admitted that the 1956 Buick Special two door hardtop was his favorite car.  Yellow with a white top, it still stands out in my memory today, from Buicks to Ramblers all in one decade.  But these cars were always part of the family, washed on weekends, antifreeze changed in the fall, snow tires mounted after Thanksgiving, and parked in the garage every night before things took over the spot where cars should sit.  The purchase was a project, as you were what you drove, or what your ride projected of you.  Certain days in car pools were dreaded just because of the car you had to ride in, even though it was just a ride, that car was part of someone else’s family, and now you were associated with it.  Maybe a distant cousin not talked about, but now they saw you in the green Rambler that day, and you could lose your cool forever.  Or it might be the one day for the Thunderbird, and they would think  you are cool beyond your means.  Lasting impressions that would later shape your car buying habits, and maybe put your kids in shock or embarrassment. 

As I grew up in the sixties, I saw how what you drove showed where you were in your career.  General Motors had a saying, “ a car for every purse and purpose,” and from Chevy with a 327 4 barrel, next it was that Grand Prix that the girls loved to date in.  Then it was an Oldsmobile, power and prestige, then a Buick, you were much older and respectable, and finally a Cadillac showing you had made it.  You were to be respected, you had made the grade, let all the others follow behind, just not too close.  Ford and Chrysler tried to emulate GM, but they had it down to a science. 

And smaller meant poor, and bigger meant rich.  Longer, lower, wider.  We had no thought of monthly payments back then, we thought they paid cash, and to have the $5500 to buy a Cadillac, that was a lot of lawns mowed at $2 a yard.  Which made me think of my Grandpa as the richest man, and my dad in the Rambler, well we never thought of ourselves as poor.  Maybe thrifty.  And thrifty people washed their own cars, using a whisk broom before my mother’s vacuum quit, and we fixed it and used it on the car.  We scrubbed whitewalls with Brillo pads till our knuckles bled, polished the chrome bumpers until we could see ourselves, and then stand back and be proud of our work, even if it was only a Rambler.  For the rich, or not so thrifty, they went to Towne Car Wash, where you could watch the cars being washed, vacuumed, and for 25 cents a smell like pine sprayed into it.   Someone else would clean the whitewalls, polish the chrome, and dry it off, then hurry to the next car coming off the line.  It was all impersonal, and somehow even the Cadillacs, or new Mustangs didn’t shine quite as nice as the old Rambler.  And someday we looked forward to paying the $1.25 to have someone wash our car, but when the chance came passed, and many a Saturday morning cleaning turned into a Saturday afternoon waxing-it was that personal.  No one got the car clean and shiny like you did.  No one else straightened the maps in the glove box.  No one else checked all the presets on the radio to see if your little sister had changed them-or your dad.  It was a job well done, and driving by you could hear the neighbors thinking “what a clean Rambler,” or “if that Mustang was mine, I’d never let it get that dirty.”  How many could tell “here comes Mr. Mohn in his Cadillac,” because it was shinier than the other black ones.  Or could tell my Nana was young at heart in her Skylark, windows down, and WEEX blaring on the radio.  No talk radio here, and the news was for 700pm at home on TV.  So cars were really part of the family, and maybe treated better than we were.  They were more than transportation, more than a grocery hauler, or a car pool machine.  Even a station wagon painted red told you more about the mom than you might need to know.  And so over the years, I developed this theory, and it tends to be pretty accurate.  You can tell what a person’s life is like based on the condition of their car.  Not necessarily the brand and model, but how they maintain it.  For instance, messy car, candy wrappers, dirty windows with fingerprints, you have a mom under the influence of children, and the kids are winning.  A clean car, without the door panels stuffed with papers, front wheels not stained with brake dust, and windows you can see out of, the person is ordered, and probably has his life under control.  At least his car.  Think of people you know and their cars, see what you think.  Scary, huh?

Think back also to a time when first impressions counted, and you wanted to be good because it reflected on your family.  The last thing you wanted was to embarrass them, to create a bad reputation.  So you behaved, within your years, and wanted to present a good image.  You kept your image clean, but yet like many clean cars, a dirty person was living inside.  The weekly cleansing at church was just not enough, for so much dirt had accumulated during the week you needed more than an hour to clean up.  So you cut corners, and soon the chrome was pitted, and you didn’t feel quite as good about yourself.  And soon neglected the Sunday church as it “didn’t make a difference, anyway,” and soon you fell into disrepair.  I have found that maintenance is expensive, but repairs are even more expensive.  That weekly church visit kept us clean, but nothing would compare with a daily walk with Christ.  Somehow when we spent time every morning with him, the day was better, no matter how bad it could be.  We find our thoughts that were questionable wouldn’t turn to actions that were when we met with Jesus everyday.  We didn’t have to go to church, we are the church, and since Jesus never left us, it must be us that left him.  And a good detailing could bring us back, but without the daily time spent with him, we soon would be in need of expensive repairs again.  And so I have also found clean cars are easier to clean, they don’t attract the same dirt, and have a coating on them to protect the finish.  And we are too.  We have the Holy Spirit covering us, protecting us, but when we neglect him, we are on our own, and all kinds of dirt sticks to us.  Until it builds up so much we need the car wash, the expensive detailing, or a repaint.  Lack of maintenance in cars and lives will soon show.  And everyone else will see it long before we do.  We need Jesus everyday, he’s not just for Sundays anymore.

Clean up your act.  It may take a whole day of spending with him, but it will be worth it.  Pray, read your Bible, and think on him during the day.  Pray at night, then repeat the next day.  And when they see you coming, they will see something different, it will be Jesus.  Or it may be the lack of him.  Either way, you will make an impression.  Maybe go take a quick look in the garage to see how your car looks.  It may tell more about your relationship with Christ than you will care to admit.  Jesus will draw all men unto him.  If some are fleeing you, maybe you need more Jesus.  Cars are still the part of families today, can you say the same of Jesus at your house?  Would Jesus car pool with you?  Maybe it’s time to consider the one on one ride with him.  No one else will ever care for you more.  And soon you can say that he is part of your family, for you will be part of his.  At the car wash....

love with compassion,

Mike

matthew25biker.blogspot.com