Vegas: The family wheels

upon a time, when I was still just a wee young little version of the human I am today, I lived in my grandpa's house with a few other family members. It was the hub of the relatives, and every holiday season the extended branches would return to the root and have a massive feast together. It was a large family, so there were many different personalities that could lead to arguments over dinner, but for the most part, it was a jovial and merry time... but after my great old grandpa passed on after an extended battle with illness, the siblings devolved into in-fighting and drifted apart with the years. The family house was sold, grandpa's car driven off to another state, and life went on. Given that I spent many of my formative years living in his house, I was quite close to my grandfather and losing him hurt pretty badly. Sure, I was adopted into the family, and always kind of felt a bit like an outsider (I was the only one in the family with both brown hair and brown eyes, so I was the brunette sheep of the clan) but grandpa? He never let that be the case for long. When my parents would fight, he'd let me take shelter in his room and offer me a cream soda from his private stash, and ensure I got a gift at Christmas. He helped me purchase the car I still have to this day. When it came to my education, he was my biggest champion and encouraged me to get good grades and push to learn more. Life isn't perfect, and neither was he, but he left a strong impression on me as a kid and I credit him for inspiring me to achieve some of the more difficult things I've managed in my life. 

Somewhere down the road, quite literally, my grandpa's car found it's way back to me. Unfortunately, after being driven off by my Uncle (who had, at the time, decried me too irresponsible for the vehicle), things had taken a dire turn for the worse. We were given the car for free, which was exceptionally nice of my aunt to do after sinking her own money into trying to get the car operational again, but we quickly found that she was still inoperable. We made it less than a full block before plumes of steam were wafting out from under the hood, and the transmission completely failed to react. I've no clue what exactly happened to the poor old girl, but she had hardly any miles on her. The Volvo I had prior to my grandpa's passing, however, is nearing 200,000 miles on her original transmission and only recently had her first issues, so I'm pleased to know my uncle's appraisal of my vehicular responsibility was incorrect and the judgment misplaced. 

So these photos serve as a bit of a time capsule. My grandfather drove me to eat chicken fried steak for breakfast in this car when I was just an adolescent, and while it hurt to see it go, we couldn't afford to fix the extent of issues she'd developed. We sold her to a mechanic, so hopefully she's been rebuilt and is on the road again, but I'll always have these photos to preserve the memory. 

Thanks for everything, grandpa. 💖

💙

XOXO,

NAU