Consider this for a minute, the rise in gang activity rose in direct
proportion to the decline of service stations. Think about it, as teens, many
of us hung out at service stations, where gas was pumped by an attendant,
sometimes a friend working nights there, they rented U Hauls, they repaired
cars, rented out empty space on their lot to dump trucks or trash trucks, who
were privately owned before trash became big business, and the back room was a
place to learn all about life, from a different perspective than health class.
Before computers and technology, we would help a friend work on his car,
personalizing it by first getting it running. We learned the basics of an LOF,
lube, oil, and filter. We got our hands dirty from using a grease gun, making
sure to hit all the zerks. Which are gone today. We changed the oil, the
filter, learned about points, plugs, and condensers, the key elements to a tune
up. Maybe the garage owner would let us hang around while he worked on cars,
and we learned all about mechanical lifters which needed to be adjusted, taking
apart and rebuilding a carburetor, and setting the timing for more power. In
the fall we would flush the cooling system and refill it with Prestone, and in
the spring drain the Prestone and fill it with water. While a big part of
winterizing your car was also putting on snow tires, where we learned to use a
floor jack, or to use the lift if we were found to be old enough. Special times
were when the owner was busy, and the bell rang when a car needed gas, and he
asked us to take care of it. Careful not to overfill when they asked for $2,
and careful not to lose a finger to the filler under the license plate, held on
by a nasty spring. I still have bruises from that one. And being allowed to
put the cash in the cash drawer, because you were trusted, a trust you would
never do anything to hurt, as this was the time of your life. And you went home
tired, dirty, and with a sense of accomplishment, all for free, but looking
forward to the next night, or all day Saturday. At the service station. Where
you pumped the gas for them. Self serve was only for bikers, and you learned
quickly not to even ask to fill their tank, you just handed them the hose. Life
was under the hood, not in the hood.
But you also learned about dealing with people, and being honest with
them. You watched as change was counted out. You counted out the Green
Stamps. You would see neighbors outside of their homes, and feel good when they
would comment about how you were growing up, and couldn’t believe you were
really in high school. But it was the conversations in the back room, where the
girlie calendar hung, where the room often was heavy with Camel or Chesterfield
smoke, where life was learned. You heard about the dates with that girl, and
all the conquests, sexual and social that went on when you would be grown up.
And although exciting , it scared you. You thought you were. You heard about
problems paying bills from the older guys, how Mrs. Brown was getting divorced,
and how they would sure like to ask her out. How the price of gas was raised to
over 30 cents, and people complained. You learned to shut up and listen and
learn, sometimes getting the story right from the horse’s mouth, but influenced
by the other end of the horse. But you wanted to be cool like them, and when
you noticed the round imprint on their wallet, you knew they were carrying a
rubber, they weren’t condoms yet, that had been there so long it had left an
imprint. For showing you were a man...never a thought to using it. For you
talked about sex, but never did it. There were certain protocals to dating, and
respect was one of them. And sometimes you even saw the price to be paid for
indescretion, as a friend would have to get married, and miss out on all the fun
you were having. And suddenly dating wasn’t as much fun, and sex was limited to
the limited views of the calendar. And that the only book where sex came after
marriage was the dictionary. Good times, good friends, and good memories, all
hanging out at the service station. And I miss them, along with the smell of
grease, ethyl gas, and rich running cars. Smells that today are gone, that we
are told are deadly today, but we all somehow managed to make it. A place where
morals, responsibility, repair skills, and respect were taught. But today we
have self serve, no service stations, cashiers hiding behind bullet proof glass,
and cars that can’t be worked on. Even mechanics are now called techs, and wear
rubbers, gloves that is, to keep their hands from getting dirty. Don’t want to
mess up those cuticles. And so kids hang out on street corners, and soon form
gangs, and soon get into crime. If only the service stations were still here,
they would learn about life under a car, rather than stealing one. Learn
respect for each other, rather than fighting for turf. And pass on a work ethic
to their kids that our fathers passed not us, and we hope we passed on to ours.
But there is hope, and technology isn’t it. Is it possible that technology was
a good thing, and like progress it just went on too long?
Today we many who don’t go to church, they sit in front of a laptop,
sipping latte at a Starbucks watching a streamed church service. No social
interaction, no fellowship with other believers and no growth. God has been
reduced to a convenience, watched at a convenient time when God fit into your
schedule. Maybe even a reminder to pop up reminding you. We have become so
isolated form each other, from pumping our own gas, to driving our kids to
places we used to walk, to regulating what they eat, and they better not get
their hands dirty-germs! What it is is living in fear, and even being afraid to
admit it. Perpetuating a lie. And I blame churches, rather pastors and staffs
who concentrate on social issues, rather than Jesus. Who are all about
programs, projects, and procedures. Who forget that we are individuals, and
think because we faked it through a 12 step program we know God. And then sit
back and congratulate themselves on what a great job they did. And I want to
puke. Too many have learned how to work within the system, but don’t know how
to escape it. We need men and women to stand tall in Jesus, and spend time with
our kids, building a respect in them for us, so when we tell them about Jesus,
they listen. They listen like we listened at the garage, how whatever we were
told, we listened. We had respect and wanted to be like the guy running the
shop. We wanted to know first hand...and today many still want to know Jesus
that way. We have church clubs, but still need the follow up, the encouragement
after the lesson, and when the problems arise. We need to invite kids over when
we work on our bikes, our cars, and to hang out. To show them that Jesus is not
a set of rules to obey, but rather a freedom to live in. To show he is
personal, and build relationships and trusts they can pass on. To equip others
to equip others, the Bible calls it discipleship. And we need it now.
Invite a kid to church, he may make excuses. We did. But invite them to
check out your rides, to hang out listening to bench racing, and to get them
involved. A chance to be a witness one on one, and show how life in Christ
really is, and not hide behind a monitor. Get their hands dirty, and send them
home with a sense of accomplishment, a sense of belonging, and a desire to come
back. Men we need you now, we need real men who love Jesus, and are willing to
open their garages. To do it without a program, no processes, and the procedure
being the holy spirit. Spring for Slurpees, and watch as relationships grow,
the gospel is spread, and lives are changed for Christ. See people saved.
Looking back never realized those special days hanging out pumping gas, and
cleaning stalls were really preparing me to share the gospel. But we were
having church, maybe we just need to get back to the basics. The basic being
Jesus. He will change lives that no social programs ever will, but you need to
reach that audience. If you have anything other than cars, motorcycles, and
Jesus in your garage, you need to clean it up, and clean up your act too. The
first church met in the upper room, turn your garage into that upper room. I
can almost smell the racing castor now....let the testimonies begin. Kids need
men to look up to, and we all need Jesus. The ultimate service station. Under
the hood before the hood. And after.
love with compassion,
Mike
matthew25biker.blogspot.com