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Okay, since this hellsite is going on at length about Jigsaw Puzzle Baked Bean Dad, who I won’t link directly because the pile-on is big enough already, here’s a story about how my dad introduced me to auto repair. A thread.
I got my learner’s permit at 15, like most Texas kids, and practiced in my parents’ cars to prepare for that all-important coming-of-age ritual, Going To the DMV. Sometime not long before my 16th birthday, my granddad drove down from Arkansas in his 1976 Oldsmobile Delta 88.
This car was 18 2/3 feet long. (I measured.) It drove like a boat. It was a dingy, faded yellow and a year older than me. At the end of Granddad’s visit, he flew home and left this mini-tank as a gift for me.
I named it the Yellow Peril, because what even is tact. Moving on...
I named it the Yellow Peril, because what even is tact. Moving on...
The first Saturday after Granddad left, Dad said, “Well, the car’s yours, but before you can drive it, it’s gonna need new front shocks. C’mon out to the garage with me.”
We collected the tools we needed, then went out to the car in the driveway. He pushed down hard on the hood.
We collected the tools we needed, then went out to the car in the driveway. He pushed down hard on the hood.
The car only bounced back up a little bit. “That’s how you can test if the shocks are starting to go. Try it out on my car, you can see the difference.” So I tried it, and sure enough, his Saturn’s front end was bouncy, the Olds not at all.
We popped the hood, and he pointed out the layout of the internals, explaining how the parts worked together. When he got to the shock mounts, he took the socket wrench and removed the top bolt from one while I watched.
Then he gave me the wrench. “Ok, you do the other one.”
Then he gave me the wrench. “Ok, you do the other one.”
So I found the mirror-image mount on the other side, located the bolt, crank crank crank and it was done.
For the next part we had to jack up the car, which he was painstakingly careful about. I just placed the jack stands.
PSA: Use jack stands. Your uncrushed skull thanks you.
For the next part we had to jack up the car, which he was painstakingly careful about. I just placed the jack stands.
PSA: Use jack stands. Your uncrushed skull thanks you.
Then he showed me the lower bolts, took off one, and like before, I did the other. We slipped the shocks off their mounts and he showed me how the piston rod stayed in when I pushed it down. “A new one, you push it in and it springs back. Let’s go to the auto parts store.”
So we hopped into his car, left the Olds jacked up in the driveway, drove to the nearest auto parts store, handed over the old shocks, and bought a new pair. I played with the new ones a bit on the drive home, and sure thing, much springier.
When we got home, Dad said, “Okay, you saw how they came off. They go on the same way, just backwards. I’ll be in the yard if you need any help, and come get me before you try to lower it down again.” With that, he went inside, grabbed a beer, and left me to wrenching.
The sense of ownership and pride that this act of fixing my own car created is indescribably beautiful, and a big part of why it came out that way is that my dad set me up for success at every step. He never left me hanging.
Instead of expecting me to reason out the workings of a complex machine all alone, he stepped me through them, with the machine itself as a visual aid.
Instead of making me invent every step myself, he showed me each step, had me repeat it, then said “ok now do it backwards.”
Instead of making me invent every step myself, he showed me each step, had me repeat it, then said “ok now do it backwards.”
And since “now do it backwards” is more complicated, he stayed far enough away so as not to hover - it was my car and thus my job, after all - but close enough that he could overhear me yelling at the inanimate objects if something was going wrong.
I’m not going to go point by point through Jigsaw Puzzle Baked Bean Dad’s anecdote, since you can’t teach the wilfully ignorant. Besides, I’m more interested in how to do it *right*.
Given that less than a month later I was patching a hole in my muffler, I’d say Dad sure did.
Given that less than a month later I was patching a hole in my muffler, I’d say Dad sure did.
Love you, Dad. You’re the best.
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