Warning: Dad joke coming.
"Son--good news. The tire on your car is only half flat."
Yup. I had to say it. It's a calling, really. Some call it a curse, and I understand that.
My dad worked on cars. Of course, he was born in the mid-1920s. Cars were less complicated back then. I'm sure a modern lawnmower is more complicated than those vehicles. When my dad was young, cars had an engine, the fuel line, the cooling system, tires, seats, doors, windows, lights, and that was about it. Even thirty-five years ago when I got my license and my first car, you could find an old Chevy or Ford (or VW...) that lacked anything that you couldn't fix yourself.
Like most of my friends, I took auto shop in high school. I could do a lot of minor fixes to my little 1965 VW bug. I probably could have pulled an engine or re-built the transmission. I didn't, though.
Point is, I learned about cars because cars needed fixing.
This morning I helped my son change the tire on his car. It's the first time he's changed a flat on his car. I didn't need to help him much--he was quite capable. He found the correct place to apply the jack, lifted the car, swapped the flat tire for a fully inflated spare (a full-sized tire, not a donut tire...) and put the car down. Easy-peasy.
I admire those who repair cars. When I worked on my bug, scrapped knuckles and stifled cursing inevitably followed. Had I more patience and the correct tools, it would have made the experiences more pleasant, but I didn't. I'd like to be able to work on my car now. I try and fix the small things--I leave the important functions (brakes, engine, fuel line, suspension...) to the pros.
I enjoyed watching my son change the tire on his car. It brought back memories.
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