A rusty old car sits by the side of the road, useful only as scrap metal.
Any sane person would bypass it, probably adding a steups at people who leave junk lying around. But clearly, my father does not belong to that exclusive group, as he passed this tetanus-inducing box and decided to BUY it. Yes. BUY it. And fix it. Fix a thing that looked as if it hadn’t run in about 20 years.
Now, madness doesn’t run in our family, but being the almost-there recipient of a BSc. Psych degree, I began to look out for signs. However, nothing seemed wrong. In fact, he was weirdly happy all the time. Whenever he returned from an excursion seeking parts, he would enthusiastically describe the car’s progress (kind of like how I would describe an especially epic shopping trip to anyone who would listen). It seemed that bringing this car back to life gave him a sense of accomplishment. And it is a gorgeous car now.
However, I WAS tempted to carry him to the nearest mental hospital when he confessed that he initially intended to buy a Jaguar…but couldn’t resist the old, rusted Austin. Um. WHAT? You can afford a JAGUAR…but you buy a junky AUSTIN? Off to St Anns you go my friend…
But I do understand why he chose the Austin. He didn’t see a sad piece of scrap metal sitting on the roadside. He saw the Austin in its glory days, its beautiful paint job glistening in the sun as it purred down the road. (Yes. He has an exceptional imagination.) He brought a beautiful car back from the dead, and felt fulfillment and accomplishment. That is why, I suppose, our old Austin A50 is worth so much more than a Jaguar.
And all those guys staring when we drive isn’t so bad either ;)
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