Each year in June for the last 40 years, Medford, Oregon, has hosted the Medford Cruise. The Cruise t is a display of vintage cars and a drive through the city. This year, there were hundreds of vehicles of all types on display. As I do each year, I pay a visit to the community park where the cars are parked for passersby like me to view.
The majority of those in attendance at the Cruise are older baby boomers like me. Many will bring their families with them. Music from the 1950s and 60s is played over large outside speakers. I saw aging bodies grooving to the tunes as memories from the past filled their minds. As I walk among the cars, I always look for cars that are somehow linked to my personal history.
This year, I saw a 1932 Ford with a rumble seat. It was the car my dad owned when he first started dating my mom in the late 1930s. This 1932 Ford was tricked out with a professional paint job and upholstery, as well as new tires and wheels. Underneath all the car show improvements lay the memory of its original state, of black paint and upholstery, just like the car my father owned.
From their first date, my dad asked my mom to marry him each time they met. For him, it was love at first sight. My father’s questioning went on for two years until, as my mom said, she gave in to his continuous appeals and said yes. As a result of my mother’s yes, my brother and I were born, and my parents left us a legacy of their commitment to each other.
I recall my dad telling me about his first date with my mom. My grandmother told my father that he could date her daughter only if she were allowed to sit in the rumble seat to make sure the date was an honorable affair and there was no hanky-panky involved.
After a short season of dating, my grandmother no longer required to sit in the rumble seat. She entrusted her daughter to my father. Until my grandmother’s dying day, she depended on my father to help her with the issues of life since my grandfather left the marriage in the depths of the Depression and never returned.
Yesterday, a 1932 Ford reminded me of the beginning of our family, and images of my grandmother sitting in the rumble seat came to mind, making sure my mother and father got off to a proper start.
To be a father is an honorable title. It blooms and matures when the honor, care, and protection of a father are given to his family as a gift of his presence in the life of a family.
My car that my future wife eyed was a 1952 black MG with red leather seat covers and black and white checkered grill. Almost every day at El Camino jr. Col. She would ask me for my keys. Then she and her friend would go tooling around.