Friday, October 26, 2012

the Pinto-Charlie's Angels drove one







My Dad was a great guy, but cold never be accused of being a car guy. At an age when I first started to identify cars by exhaust sounds, and could tell you the differences between a Chevelle and a Fairlane, my Dad drove Ramblers. I remember his 1962 American wagon, where we could sit on the tailgate after baseball practice-facing away from the car. Color-green, of course. Which was replaced by a 1964 American 440 sedan, again green. Not quite as nerdy, but in the neighborhood I lived in, the Aldingers had a 1964 Chrysler 300-black, and Scottie's brothers had 1965 Impalas, Doug with a 283, and Gary a SS with 327 and 4-on-the-floor. But my Dad finally broke the green syndrome in 1966 buying a Classic sedan, two tone cream and gold. Which would be the car that I took my driving test in, and would be the first car I would drive.
Now even girls knew about Nash seats, which would fold down into a bed, and the Classic had them. Which I never got a chance to use, for right after I got my license, they traded it on a new 1971 Pinto. Again, you guessed it, green, that green color Ford painted every other car in those years. It was a two door, big change for my Dad, with the big 2000cc engine, putting 75 earth shaking horsepower to the pavement. Which later would allow the carburetor to vibrate from the intake manifold. It had a green interior-big surprise, and was vinyl everywhere, from the seats, tot he floor mats-no carpet in this beauty, to the dash and door panels. Which on hot and humid days in Jersey gave me a portable sauna. No Nash seats, just buckets, and with a floor shifter-automatic, at least you could brag about buckets and not having three on the tree. It was designed to seat four, but would take seven in a pinch when the shore beckoned. The heater worked great, melting numerous bags of Tootsie Rolls while driving around when we should have been in school. It was no babe magnet, but my girlfriend liked it-there was a buffer zone between us when driving, and I never got to enjoy a dead arm from driving while embracing her. It finally died when the carb vibrated off the intake, all bolts had come loose, and made a horrible noise before going into the fan. Giving a whole new meaning to the phrase FORD-Found On Road Dead. But when it ran, it beat the Schwinn, had an 8-track, and at $2 per fill-up, was cheap to run.
You never see any Pintos anymore, although they made millions of them, so when we saw one in Menifee at a car show, I couldn't look away. It was like watching a horrible accident happening-over and over, and from the blue 4-banger staring from under the hood, to the plastic not so fantastic interior, I had to keep walking. One look at the older hippie girl who claimed ownership reminded me that some things are better left in the past-or forgotten all together. Definitely not one of Ford's better ideas, but still better than a Rambler. I still wonder about those Nash seats sometimes...
It was humbling to be driving the Pinto, but I have learned over the years I rather be humbled than humiliated. It was rough being the only Pinto among the SS396, Boss Mustang, and Road Runner crowd. When a girl would rate you buy what you drove, I was way down on the horsepower curve, exaggerated when I asked a girl out, who when I picked her up, volunteered to drive us in her Camaro. And I had been humiliated before even driving, like when I fell going up the stairs at our freshmen award assembly in front of the whole school. Co-captain of both football and basketball teams, I wish my jokes could have gotten as big a laugh as my trips did. So pride shows up in the strangest and most unexpected times, so does humility. And as a young Christian my zealousness would interrupt the things of God sometimes. But as I learned to trust God, I felt better sitting in the back row and letting someone else get the recognition. I soon was able to turn my bragging into testimonies, and give God all the credit. But yet as I watch good friends go out and do things for God, and I see them get the recognition, I wonder where is Jesus in their lives? And I wonder, do I come off like that? I don't want to, and find I don't when the Spirit leads-when it doesn't look out humility. And as you become humble, you can't brag about it. Just like when you see the Invisible Man, he isn't anymore, if someone congratulates you on being humble, you aren't any more. So as a friendly warning, and good advice, give it all to Jesus. You didn't save yourself, you can't save others, and without Him you have no power, something to reconsider next time you brag.
I try to put Jesus first when sharing, so He gets the credit-not me. I still get embarrassed when someone says something nice about me-although my ego is fed, my spirit wanes. Pride goes before the fall-and I am tired of falling. When the scriptures say "I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me," I take it further. I did all things through Him, I am doing all things through Him, and will continue to. Just like it says-"Jesus Christ, the same yesterday, today, and tomorrow." "Who was, and is, and is to come." Let man give credit to God-then look forward to hearing from God "well done, my good and faithful servant."
God has allowed me to overcome many things in my life, including the Pinto years. Sin, pride, and poor choices in cars. I can even look back now and appreciate the Pinto over the Rambler, and how He rescued many a girlfriend from those Nash seats. You see He is there even when you don't notice, even before you are saved, protecting you. And He uses the foolish things to His advantage, even a Pinto. And He gets the bragging rights, for no one, no way, would choose Pinto over cool. Or horsepower. Maybe your testimony includes some Pinto time, if not, ask God to humble you , before you are humiliated. The Pinto was never as cool as my Schwinn Sting Ray-but a car none the less. You never forget your first car-never forget your true God. Jesus Christ-all the cool you will ever need. And no Nash seats! The Pinto-which grew up into the Mustang II. Just think-you could have been driving a Pacer!
love with compassion,
Mike
matthew25biker.blogspot.com