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The Green Machine

            It is only a car. It is just a 1998 Green GMC Suburban, and itís not even mine yet. My Dad is turning the big five zero this year, and his grey hair and sleeping all day on the couch shows it. My Dad owns a lot of nice things, but his car he just does not want to get rid of. I know that he will give the car to me though. Both my sister and my brother didnít want the green machine at all, because I guess they donít appreciate it that much. I know that this car has a lot of meaning to it and I want it.

About ten years ago when my dad got his car, I was very little. I was only about six years old. My whole family drove to the car dealership, and there the car waited, just for him. I remember climbing in to the brand new car and smelling the new scented pine air freshener. That smell reminded me of waking up on a hot sunny day in the middle of the forest. I also clearly recall feeling the leather, like it was just skinned off a cow. Back then I thought the car was something incredible, and I thought my dad had the coolest car ever. It was a dark green color and very shiny. I looked at the car and saw my face in the reflection. The wheels were all polished, not a spec of dirt on them. I could have eaten lunch off of them if I wanted to. This car was the best.

This car is not a rare or antique car at all. Most of my family owns great looking cars. My Mother has a white corvette, my sister has a white mountaineer, and my brother has a black Chevy Avalanche. My Dadís car is an old truck. It is dark green, and the paint has faded a slight bit because of it being so old. The car has several dents and scratches on the sides and the front of the car. My Dad got in a car crash with this car, and the front bumper is a bit dented in.  The license plate on the car is almost falling off, hanging by a thread of plastic lining. The rims on the car are very worn down, and the back left tire hubcap is off. I remember the day he got in his car crash. My mom and dad were driving home from my lake house, and they were on the highway. There was a truck in front of my dad, and the truck was weaving back and forth like he was drunk. The truck then hit someone in the left lane and the truck flipped. My dad had to swerve the car and drive off the high way to make sure he did not hit the truck. The car is very beat up, but it still runs and gets him from point A to point B.

            The main reason my dad bought the car was to have a car to drive, and use for work. My Dad is a caterer, and he runs many parties weekend after weekend. My Dad is a very busy person. He would always get home late, and sometimes I would not even see my Dad some days. The only time when I would get to see my dad would be in the morning, when he would make breakfast for me. It made me sad; sometimes tears were down my face because I didnít get to see my father a lot.

            My Dad eventually gave the car to someone, and it was not me. My Dad gave the green machine to my grandfather who really needed a car because his broke down and stopped working. It was a nice fit for my grandfather, but I was still shocked that I didnít end up getting the car. A couple months later my grandfather passed away due to a heart attack. Inside that car are now smells of my grandfather that I havenít smelled since he was alive. The smell of his rich cologne, which he wore every morning before going to work, and another fills the cars rugs and seats.

            My Dad got the car back and he still uses it to this day. When I just look at the car now many images pop up in my head. I always remember my grandfather, but I also picture my dad. I see how hard he works by the coffee and food stains on the seat. I know just by looking at the car, my Dad is very giving and respectful; he gave the car to my grandfather. A lot of sweat and tears went down in that car and all the memories reflect back to my father. Just by looking at the car I can tell just what kind of man my father is. I wish I could become just half the man that my father is.

            The car still sits in the driveway of my house, where it was last parked by my father. Itís still there, but it sits there for a reason, a reason that I will probably find out one day. But when that day comes, I will open up the car door, put the key in the key whole, and start the engine. And I will know that this car reminds me of my father, and all the values and morals that he has taught me.