A strange car pulled up in front of my house a little while ago. Immediately my paranoia was piqued. Did I have to answer the door? Was I going to have to fool with strange visitors? I turned off my loud stereo and stood in the kitchen, hiding, waiting for the inevitable knock on the door. Then came the knock. And another louder, more persistent knock. “Hey! Andrew! It’s George! Come to the door!” Phew! I was about to have an anxiety attack for a moment there.
“I bought a new car,” George said. “It’s a fixer upper.”
In front of my house was a 1984 Chevrolet Caprice Classic. It looked in good shape for such an old car. The paint was in fair condition and there was no body damage that I could see.
“I am going to fix it up real nice,” George told me chomping on a cigar. “I paid $1500 dollars for it. The engine doesn’t even use oil and it only has 98,000 miles on it.”
George and I rode down by the elementary school making a loop and coming back to my house.
“You’re going to have a great time fixing this old car up,” I told George getting out of the car. “It runs great.”
“I needed a hobby and I have lots of money now that I stopped drinking,” George replied with a grin.
I was proud for George. George is no stranger to keeping an older car running after driving that 1981 Dodge Diplomat for decades. This was just another sign of the good sobriety was doing in his life.
“What is the first thing you are going to do to it?” I asked George as we stood in my front yard.
“New paint job and upholstery,” he replied. “Dark Corvette emerald green on the outside and tan on the inside.”
“Sharp!” I said grinning.
George finally headed for home to eat a late breakfast and get in his sleep before working again another night. I don’t think I’ve been prouder for George in years.