Measure of a Man: Motors, Horse Power, Pipes and More

In order to understand the very different men in my life, I attempt to size them up by using their personal relationships with their automobiles.

My own father has always been really outdoorsy, which suited him perfectly. He worked as a biologist, but is retired now. Picking up a fossil here; chipping a rock there, that’s my pop. He never managed to acquire any fondness for machinery. He was raised by his parents to act like a gentleman, but motors and geartrains seemed to bring out the worst in him. I have early memories of him cursing the Industrial Age as he was bent over an engine.

My father would regularly change the tires on our VW camper, but I never saw him fawning over aftermarket center caps or grille work. While he would occasionally dab some Rust-o-leum onto oxidized spots on the van or put H2O in the radiator, you would never see him take a Q-tip to the dashboard knobs or scrub the headlights with a toothbrush.

On the other hand, my father-in-law is unquestionably a car man. He can tell you the make, model and year of every vehicle that’s travelled down the Pennsylvania turnpike. His ideal way to spend a Saturday afternoon would be checking out a 1962 Chevrolet at a local Antique Club Car Show or scrubbing his own whitewalls.

He graduated rapidly from a teething ring to a pitchfork and pliers while growing up in a rural area of northern Pennsylvania. Learning all about animal husbandry and the ABCs of automobile mechanics was required of young farm boys. His interest in things with gizmos, wheels, and motors seemed to stick even though any fondness for animals did not. He made the choice to leave the farm and go to university and he never looked back.

My husband is also a professor; just like both of our fathers, but that is the only thing they share. He doesn’t like to go camping, carefully cleaning his cars, or collecting rocks. He loves to spend his Saturday marking papers as he sips fancy java beverages at Starbucks.

He puts petrol in the car, but would be more likely to employ his American Racing center caps as door stops in his office rather than pimp his ride with them. No disrespect if you’re a center cap mind you. He takes the time to vacuum-clean his car every other season and doesn’t mind driving around with the words “wash me” scrawled someplace in the grime on his car.

Our daughter’s boyfriend is just like my father in law, but a bit more juiced. He got a high performance exhaust kit as a gift last month and has been excited ever since beyond his tailpipe growls deeply. You can see that our daughter is in the throes of love when you listen to her talk about how you can hear him approaching from a mile away.

It’s true that men and the relationships they have with their automobiles are complicated. It seems that these relationships can be an expression of some men’s masculinity, while other men handle their cars as an adversary that’s a nuisance that must be conquered or endured.

Some gentlemen give their cars names and others blaspheme them. Some give their cars plenty of TLC and others call for bragging rights because their car or truck is a total beater or has the most mileage. Car stories are exchanged over beers, like war stories used to be shared at the campfire.

Why else would the auto industry continually sell billions of dollars in decals, car alarms, hoods, exhausts, center caps, dashboard accessories, fancy headlights, window tint, backup sensors, seat covers, rims, and chrome?

Whether the vehicle in the driveway is fuel for swearing or cooing, I’m prone to suppose there’s some kind of mechanical mojo in there – something reminiscent to “If you build it, he will come.”