The need to write...
I recall through much of my adolescent years, my father would bring me along with him to many different car shows. We would travel, typically within the state, and see hundreds of vehicles that people poured their heart and soul and wallets into.
We would see mostly classic cars, that is, cars that are really old. It was difficult at times to be around my father at these shows, because he has been wrenching professionally on cars since he was fresh out of high school. I felt like the redneck being brought to a New York art opening most of the time, because I couldn't keep up with the conversation. He'd be talking about how they moved the position of the turn signal light frrom the front of the fender in '45 to the side of the fender in '46 with some other pot-bellied enthusiast in a hawaiian shirt.
Although it was difficult to go, I still enjoyed going. I saw paint jobs of a variety of colors. I saw engines polished shinier than the chrome interiors. I've seen leather upholstery every color of the rainbow. It was always amazing to me to see the love that people would put into their cars. When they put them out for show, it was like being invited into a special part of someone's life. "We can't bring you all to our lovely home, so let us bring it to you" is the thinking behind it, I like to believe.
I recall through much of my adolescent years, my father would bring me along with him to many different car shows. We would travel, typically within the state, and see hundreds of vehicles that people poured their heart and soul and wallets into.
We would see mostly classic cars, that is, cars that are really old. It was difficult at times to be around my father at these shows, because he has been wrenching professionally on cars since he was fresh out of high school. I felt like the redneck being brought to a New York art opening most of the time, because I couldn't keep up with the conversation. He'd be talking about how they moved the position of the turn signal light frrom the front of the fender in '45 to the side of the fender in '46 with some other pot-bellied enthusiast in a hawaiian shirt.
Although it was difficult to go, I still enjoyed going. I saw paint jobs of a variety of colors. I saw engines polished shinier than the chrome interiors. I've seen leather upholstery every color of the rainbow. It was always amazing to me to see the love that people would put into their cars. When they put them out for show, it was like being invited into a special part of someone's life. "We can't bring you all to our lovely home, so let us bring it to you" is the thinking behind it, I like to believe.
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i'd like to know how they polish those engines so brightly...why can't restaurants do the same with their silverware?