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