Even before he could talk he had memorized things about chassis and engines and fuel pumps that regular, ordinary adults knew little about. Admittedly, he doesn’t get his brilliance about cars from me. My knowledge pretty much ends at paint color.
When he turned 16, Charles was allowed to drive our cars. Much to his horror. Being people who value cars as simple transportation, we never buy new, rarely buy pretty and have been known on more than one occasion to accept automobiles from friends that would otherwise be hauled to the junk yard. The cars would be hauled to the junk yard. Not the friends.
Anyway, not wanting to continue being humiliated by driving the ancient family mini-van with the side trim stripped away due to a close encounter with a light pole, Charles saved money to buy his own vehicle.
The object of his desire was a 1993 Ford Bronco. I’m pretty sure there were some letters and numbers after the name but I can’t recall what they were.
I do know it was blue.
Charles and the Bronco had many wonderful adventures before numerous repairs, rising fuel prices, and a several mile commute to work caused him to decide to sell it a few years ago. He sold it to someone who wanted only the engine and transmission and then planned to junk it.
The day the sale transacted was one of the saddest in Charles’s young life. He bravely fought tears as he watched it drive away. His remorse over the sale increased but the deed was done and we assumed the Bronco had been made into pop cans. Or whatever they do with scrap metal.
Some time later Charles happened to be driving through a neighborhood when he turned a corner and…there it was…the Bronco…sitting in front of a house! Complete with a ticket for being parked and inoperable. The buyer had taken the parts he wanted but couldn’t bring himself to take it to the junk yard.
Shortly thereafter the Bronco returned to our house on a flatbed tow-truck. It is stored in our garage without the internal organs typically needed to sustain life. But Charles has a vision. His vision is to restore the Bronco to its original pristine condition.
When most people look in our garage, amid the clutter and miscellaneous refuse, they see a broken down, roughed up, lifeless hunk of metal. Otherwise known as a ‘junker.’ Charles sees far beyond the dents, scratches, blemishes, missing parts and rust spots.
Charles sees something beautiful.
It occurs to me that the Bronco in many ways represents humanity. People are often blemished and rough and at times emotionally lifeless. But, if we put in the effort, we can see past the rust and dents and see the beautiful. Sometimes it takes far more love than we are humanly able to give, to see through the damage. That is when prayer comes in handy. When I can’t find a way to love, I can pray for divine intervention to help me see past the broken side mirror and flaking paint. I guess God sees all of us as restored and freshly painted.
And when I start to see past the obvious and, instead, see possibility, I can be more tolerant and caring and truly kind to those whose lives intersect with mine. It doesn’t really matter if it is my immediate family, my crazy mother, a neighbor, or just a passerby, if I offer genuine love and caring rather than scorn and condemnation I’ve done something to improve life on this planet.
I’m not sure if we get to choose how others see us in our restored condition; if they choose to see us that way at all. But, if it is up to me, I’d like to think we are all bright, shiny...and RED.
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