It’s strange the way we come around to certain things we never thought we’d like or miss. When Andy and his Dad brought this Country Squire station wagon back from a trip to the Saratoga Auto Museum show, I eyed it with wary disdain. Having done my time in a woody during my childhood, I didn’t take kindly to this one being plopped in our side-yard for all the neighbors and the world to see. Yet I could immediately see the joy it brought to Andy, and the glimmer in his Dad’s eye whenever he’d visit and see it parked there.
Over the years, visitors and guests and even a few strangers would stop by and marvel at the retro beast, recalling their own woody wagon memories, a few inquiring as to whether Andy was looking to sell it. At one party, Andy commandeered a full wagonload of guests, taking it for a spin around the neighborhood. I actually never rode in it once, not trusting the brakes (which required two strong feet slamming down on them to actually begin to slow – I don’t fuck around with brakes). But I came to love it, if only for how much Andy enjoyed it; it even played an integral supporting role in this holiday card.
A couple of weeks ago, a caller came by and rang the doorbell. About to go off if it was another Jehovah’s Witness, I warily opened the door and waited for the Jesus pamphlet parade to begin. It was instead some guy asking if the station wagon in the yard was for sale. A small smile raised the corners of my mouth. “I don’t think so,” I said, “But let me get the owner.” The potential buyer and Andy talked for a good hour, the way Andy always entertained anyone inquiring about the wagon. In the end, they exchanged numbers but Andy never heard back on a concrete offer. I put the episode from my mind, but I think Andy got to thinking about something more important for his beloved car, and as he is getting older he realized he couldn’t keep it up and do the necessary repairs demanded by such a vehicle. We were all growing older.
A few days ago, Andy gave me the shocking news that he was going to donate the car to PBS, given how much they needed support right now, as well as how much his late Mom used to enjoy it. In many ways, it was a full circle moment for Andy’s wagon journey – a journey started with his father and finished with his mother. The day before they were scheduled to pick the wagon up, I told him he could still change his mind if he wasn’t ready; he simply said it was time, and I understood he was right.
Watching the wagon roll onto the pick-up truck, I felt a surprising twinge of sadness. Humans don’t always understand the weight of time, and when faced with its onward march it sometimes leaves a sting. Andy seemed to be handling it better.
“You can rake the side-yard now!” he proclaimed. Not sure who he was talking to since I was the only one present…
