I guess I was a lucky little girl. My mom taught me I could do anything I set my mind to. Plus, Dad expected me to take care of things when he was gone.
Mom could fix just about anything by taking it apart and putting it back together again. She did that with the vacuüm cleaner, the toaster, my roller skates, and even the car. She probably learned how to learn how to fix cars because of Dad always buying her a “really good car, that had only been driven to church and back by an old widow, or an old spinster, or an old school teacher,” or some other old woman, who “never drove over 40 miles per hour,” and that’s why even if the car was so old it was the only one left on the road, it was a steal for only $75.00. Mom learned how to “burn the carbon” out of the engine that built up all those years because those old ladies never passed another car. I learned that if you really want your car to keep running like a top, sometimes you had to rev the engine and drive it faster than fast down a long stretch of flat road.
‘Course Mom could do more than “burn off the carbon.” She could hold down the butterfly, get the carburetor going, use the jumper cables, and pound on Continue reading