A few years back I announced to my wife that it might be time to sell our ’56 Oldsmobile. I told her that I was starting to see rust bubbles and that it might be good to let “Rocket” go. In response, both my wife and daughter started to tear up; their lips quivering. Long story short: I set about restoring her and I am so glad that I did.
If you’ve never had the opportunity to own an antique automobile, that sort of attachment to an inanimate object may be hard to understand, but know that it is less about the car and more about the stories and feelings associated with the it and the knowledge that there is even more fun to come. Grad, the bullets found under the seat, the low-riding trip to camp, the love notes from my (now) daughter-in-law tucked into the bench seat… our Olds is a family storybook on wheels.
And, as it turns out, a rolling metaphor in my mind. Consider: