Opinion: My First Car

by Roy Harris

For our younger generation who’s looking for that Christmas present parked outside, instead of under the tree. Well… I’ve got a story for you!

I know that some of you now drive Cadillacs, Mercedeses, Lexuses and BMWs. I even saw a brother the other day in a Jaguar. Imagine that! Oh! he was dressed up in a suit, cell phone with a blue tooth in his ear. He must to have been talking to his girlfriend or wife because he was smiling from ear to ear.

My two daughters, Stacy and Lisa are having problems taking ownership of their cars. I sent my oldest daughter, Stacy, the tax bill for the car I brought her while she was in college and she called me up and asked, “What’s this?” “Lord, help me!”



I
can remember like it was yesterday when I got my first car. Actually, I
can remember like it was yesterday when we got our first car. You see,
my brother Sherman and I were attending North Carolina A&T State
University back in the 70’s. By the way, A&T is the greatest
university in the world.


We went to
Atlantic City one summer, and we had done all kind of jobs to save
money for a car. We washed pots in restaurants, waited on tables, hired
as short order cooks even though we didn’t know how to cook. We made it
through that first day on the job by remembering how Grandma Gladys use
to hook up breakfast. We ate bologna sandwiches until we could puke,
all in the name of getting a car. We worked from May through August.


Weary and worn out from working almost around the clock, we returned home to Scranton, North Carolina to secure this fabled car.


I think we had
saved a little over $900. We were not dummies, and we knew that $900
could buy us a real cool car. We were college students, and we had done
our homework. Besides, all the fellows back at A&T knew that we
were going to return back to campus in a chick magnet.


Early one Saturday morning, our father woke us up and said let’s go.


We headed off to
Belhaven, North Carolina, the next nearest town. We were from the
country, way down deep country. We lived so far in the country until
they had to pump sunlight in.


We started to
search the used car parking lots, we saw all kinds of cool cars most of
them were out of our price range or not cool enough for two country
boys trying to be cool. We tried to convince our father that we would
get a job and make the payments but he was not feeling us. Hungry and
beaten, we gave up.


It was late
Saturday afternoon and we were worn out, mad at our father, frustrated,
angry and indignant. We had left that 1965, black Plymouth Fury, four
speed on the floor, 383 cubic inches, two door shinny car on the lot.
And get this; it only cost $900.


The trip back
home was sheer silence. As we returned back to our home we noticed that
our father drove right past our house and before we knew it, we were
parked in front of the lot of the local shade tree mechanic. Our father
told us to give him $200 and he would be right back.


He returned
smiling, handed us a set of keys, and pointed to our horror at a 1961
Chevrolet Biscayne with chicken squat on the hood. He told us that we
were now the proud owners of that there car. My brother and I slowly
walked over to the car thinking, “No! He has got to be kidding! An
Aggie driving that?!”


He must have
sensed our shock, he followed us over to the car, pointed out that the
engine had just been rebuilt, that it had a new set of recapped tires,
only 70,000 miles on it and that it ran like a charm. He also reminded
us that a little water and Tide detergent would remove the chicken
droppings.


Unbeknownst to
our father, we were having a silent battle among ourselves on who was
going to be the first to drive this ugly thing home. Since I was the
oldest, my brother gave me the honor.


We returned home that Saturday evening the proud but reluctant owners of our first car.


Oh! this is not
the end of the story. Part two is when we arrived back on campus in
that 1961 Chevrolet Biscayne, four door, four cylinders, do-do green,
moon hub caps, no radio, plain car.


Part two might
be a while coming because it is too painful to recall. Thank you, daddy
for teaching us a lesson that day that we carried with us the rest of
our lives. You see, we were not as smart as we thought and he was not
as dumb as we thought.


We returned to
college with a car and $700 in our pockets. We did not have to work off
campus that semester, and we both made the Dean’s List.


Until the next time, take care  of yourself.


• Roy Harris is a
country gentleman, humorist, storyteller, deacon, father, and
grandfather. Mr. Harris writes in the perspective of each role. You can
contact Roy at 828.253.3560

or by e-mail [email protected]