My dad is passionate about his automobiles. Not only does he have some classic cars but he also has had many pickups that have each had their own personalities...from the old standard Ford that 6 (yes, that is six!) of us used to pile into to go to school everyday to the silver and red Bozmobile of the late 1980's to his current King Ranch.
Each time my father (known to his friends simply as "Boz") would bring home a new pickup, he would come get me, with a gleam in his eye, to go for a ride. Now I realize that I wasn't the only daughter that was blessed with these "crop checks" with my father. Each of my sisters had similar excursions with the same and/or different vehicles as they were growing up and still living in my parents' home. It wasn't the size of the engine or the comfort of the seats that he wanted to share. It wasn't the length of the wheel-base or the color of the paint that had him excited. It was the "get-up-and-go", the popping of glasspacks (which were invariably added), and the sweet sounds of the stereo.
As we climbed in, the first thing my father did was put in a cassette, crank up the volume, and then look at me and wait for my reaction to the quality of the sound. God, I can just see that ornery smile on his face and the expectant look of pleasure when I exclaimed over it and started singing along. Then off we'd go to tour the fields, stopping now and again to time a quarter-mile run just out of curiosity!
The music that Boz selected wasn't just any old thing that he had around, though. It was something that had style, gave us common ground, and ROCKED! Typically, this meant that my field tours with my father had soundtracks created by Elvis (The King) and/or Jerry Lee Lewis (The Killer). We were raised on the stuff.
Over the years I have had several different vehicles, not always purchased for functuality or with frugality. When I got my last car, it had a hemi and an incredible sound system. It was a Boz car--definitely. I immediately fell in love with the "get-up-and-go", the sound of the hemi, and the brilliant, crisp sound of the stereo. That evening I loaded up Todd and the kids, grabbed the iPod, and headed for the interstate. It was time for my own children to experience the thrill of a new vehicle--"momma" style.
As I accelerated onto I-70, I looked at my family with a gleam in my eye and started the song. And we rocked out! The kids were INTO it. The grins on their faces and dancing in the seats were all I needed to know that they got it. When it was over, I let the silence just hang in the air for a few seconds before I told my children that they had just enjoyed listening to the "Killer" sing Boogie Woogie Country Man and their lives were better because of it. Then I told them the story of my trips in new vehicles with my own father...Grandpa.
Go ahead...listen to it. I added a link to a YouTube clip that plays the song--the same exact version that has always made my blood start pumping. A song that I will always associate with my father. If you're human, it should give you the chills.
Thanks, Dad, for taking the time to share your joy and love with us and to pass along your passion...for music, for speed (God help us!), for the land, and for family. I love you.
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