It seems like yesterday. Which isn't all that odd since it actually was yesterday...but I digress. It all started when my friend Mark called me, out of the blue, to see if I wanted to go see Captain America. Sylvia had taken the kids to the water park/roller coaster haven a few towns away, and I was working in my classroom. I was just at the point where I had more things to do but no more desire to do them. It was the perfect storm of, "Sure! I'd love to go!"
Mark told me that he wanted to drive so he could put some miles on the newly installed engine in his classic car. Mark is a 'car guy' and I suspect that he was born somewhere in the Ford Galaxie but that is a blog (and movie line...anyone?) for another day. Mark is also who I drove with, for roughly 36 hours, to go to the Arizona mission last year. He brought about 300 hours of music on cd's. I never ran out of stories. Someone who endured my stories, for that long, and still wants to sit next to me in a car...deserves a medal.
Well, as we were coming home from the theater, and getting on the freeway, Mark hit the gas, the speedometer rose, I was pressed back in my seat, and I said, "This reminds me of a story."
Mark threw his hands in the air, skidded to the side of the freeway, and told me to get out, screaming, "Everything reminds you of a story! I can't take it!"
OK, so he didn't do that...but I'm pretty sure he was thinking it as I told the story of our old family car. Growing up, my mom always wanted a car that would, "Get out of it's own way!" To her, a slow car meant death and dismemberment so we always had a car with a little get up and go. She also associated size with power so we had a series of boat-like vehicles with large engines to propel them down the street, freeway, or drag-strip...(just kidding Mom). One of my favorites was the car we had when I first learned to drive. It was and Oldsmobile 98 and it had an impressive 454 motor in it. Since the car was huge it wasn't all that fast taking off from a stoplight, but if you weren't careful to obey all the proper speed limits and safety precautions mandated by the state to ensure peace and tranquility among the people...(kids are you listening?)...then it would go from 55 to 85+ in the blink of an eye! I think I may have done that once, on accident, on a closed track...do not attempt this at home. (kids, seriously you need to pay attention here)
I loved that car and its over sized power-plant and was sad when it came time to park it at the curb and buy a new more reliable, but equally huge, car. I had a VW bug by then, and was paying for my own gas, so I didn't ever drive it anymore. It was showing its age with rust and holes in the vinyl top but it was still a great car.
Then one day there was a knock at the door and Dad went outside for a while. When he came back in he said, "I just sold the Olds."
"What!? When did you decide to do that? Did you put it in the paper? Was there a sign on it?"
"Nope, this guy just came up to the door and asked if we wanted to sell the car."
"That is weird. How much did you get?"
"Three hundred dollars."
"What!! I would have given you that!!" (to be fair, childhood loves are priceless, but even at that, three hundred sounded low)
"You didn't want that car, Jeff."
And that was the last we spoke about the car.
Until a few years later...and this is where the story gets good. (thank you for not shouting out, 'FINALLY!')
There was another knock at the door and again Dad answered it and went outside. When he came back in he told us that we had just been visited by the police.
"What?"
"Yeah. He asked if we owned a tan Oldsmobile 98. When I told him that we sold it a couple years ago he thanked me and turned around to walk away. I stopped him and asked why he wanted to know about that car. He said that it was the getaway car in an armed bank robbery in San Jose! The guy didn't register it after he bought it."
"Yeah. He asked if we owned a tan Oldsmobile 98. When I told him that we sold it a couple years ago he thanked me and turned around to walk away. I stopped him and asked why he wanted to know about that car. He said that it was the getaway car in an armed bank robbery in San Jose! The guy didn't register it after he bought it."
After all the 'oohs' and 'ahhs' appropriate for exciting news like that in a boring suburban middle class household, we all thought, 'Hey he just walked away after you told him the car wasn't ours anymore. That is not like the movies at all!' But it gave us an idea... and we have been a bank robbing family ever since. And when the police come to see if we own the getaway car we just say, "Nope not ours." and they walk away. Simple as that. After all...have you seen what they pay teachers these days!?
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