Parts is Parts

As a child of divorce I always wanted my weekends with my father to be fun, Disneyland and beach time. I wanted it to be a big deal, since we didn’t get much time together.

It turned out to be boring and normal. My dad re-married and there was my older stepbrother and two stepsisters. So to them, I was the pesky kid who was too young to play Monopoly with and just old enough to tell on them when they did wrong.

Sometimes my dad would take my real sister and I to run errands with him on Saturday mornings, after cartoons. We ended up at Pep-boys and other car part shops, and I was bored to no end. I hated it and couldn’t get the smell of tires out of my noise. I wished I had a nosegay or some perfume on my wrist to smell.

He used to get this beer that looked like the yellow Pennzoil can. I know he had to use a can opener with the triangle part to pop it open. I am sure they don’t make them any more. It wasn’t that he was a gear-head; he just tried to fix what he could on his own. I remember that he used to get the beer at the same time as the parts and would drink it during and after fixing the car.

The irony is that now I work at Fullerton Vintage and buy parts all the time. The kids that work at the local Auto Zone see me all the time. We also get parts from Mick at the Scooter Shop, in Orange. I am there several times a week. As well as trips to Ace hardware and Cycle Gear, is there more? Yes, Internet shopping, all for scooter parts. So if everything happens for a reason, were those boring Saturday’s preparation for my life now?

Quite possibly, at any rate, I still get bored. Not that I am complaining, I just remember to bring a book to read while my boss and good friend Chris gets the things we need. I finished reading 6 books last year. I also have my ipod to listen to while the boys get parts and talk about scooter stuff. So if anything, I have learned how to entertain myself while the men take care of business.

I am not close with my father and he knows none of this. I guess I don’t want give him the satisfaction of being proud of me for turning our Saturday ritual into something practical, since he has been absent most of my life and can’t take the credit for bringing me up. Plus if I call him, I know he won’t want to hear about what I had to buy. After all…….Parts is parts.