When You Give a Kid a Jetta  . . .

More than anything, my Dad loves to solve a car problem.  By car problem, I mean anything from getting one washed to not having one.  If you’re related to my Dad and you mention a car dilemma, he’s at your doorstep drooling, ready to help.

When my oldest son broke up with his girlfriend and moved out, he had a car and a job.  Soon, he had neither.  My Dad heard he needed work and called.  “My apartments need painting,” he told Evan.  “I’ll fly you down, you do some work, and I’ll pay you well.” 

Evan agreed.  My Dad got all excited to paint with my son.  He had professionals paint the top floors and told them, “Leave the street level undone.  My grandson’s coming down.  We’re going to do it together, my grandson and I.”  He was excited about bring up another generation of painter in the Navajo White tradition.

At some point, Evan mentioned he had to sell his car.  He likes VWs and likely mentioned that, too.  My Dad heard this and I’m guessing rushed out the door even before hanging up the phone. 

He researched and drove around the Bay Area, where he lives, looking for the perfect grandson VW.  He located one within what seemed like hours.  “I found a Jetta,” he told Evan.  “I’ll buy it and you can stay longer and work it off.”

What kid would say no?

My Dad had a car project and he was excited.  He called me right away to share the news.  “I’ll get it checked out by AAA and do all the repairs.  I’ll teach Evan how to change the fluids, check the hoses, and repair the belts.”  He said a bunch more things, but I’m female.  My mind started to wander.  The thought of belts and hoses only makes me sleepy.

Evan flew down during the week and called right away to let me know he’d landed.  Of all my kids, he’s the one who’s done more work than anyone for my Dad.  It might be because he’s the oldest and most mature.  It also might be because he just plain likes my Dad.

My Dad is like no other.  He has a good heart and means well but he likes to give advice.  You’ll be on a bike ride with him and he’ll stop you to make sure you know not to use the front brakes.  I think it makes him feel good to teach.  Even if it’s something, like bike brakes, you’ve known since you were six. 

At some point, this starts to bother some people.  Me, for example.  Not Evan.  He smiles, says, “Oh, thanks,” then turns up his iPod.  He told me within the first three hours, he heard the same advice six times.  He didn’t sound annoyed, like the other kids and I might.  He sounded like he enjoyed the attention.  

<>He’s called almost every day. 

“I got up at 6:30 AM this morning,” he said.

<>“Why?” 

“I have no idea.”

<>“Are you painting yet?” I asked him. 

“No, not yet.  You have to patch first.”  He’s getting technical, it sounds like to me.  Evan, unlike my other kids, was born in the same hospital as my Dad, grandfather, and great-grandfather.  This makes him fifth-generation San Franciscan.  He’s even starting to sound like my Dad.   Soon he’ll be giving me bike-braking advice.

<>I hear my Dad talking in the background.  “Your Dad’s giving me instructions,” Evan said, “even though I’m on the cell.  Is all your family this excited about painting?” 

“Maybe,” I said. 

<>I didn’t hear from him for a few days. 

“Painting yet?” I asked Evan again.

<>“Yes, everywhere.” 

“Are you getting good?”

<>“I think so,” he said. 

“How long is it going to take you to do those big apartments?”

<>“We got it all done,” he said.  “In two days.” 

“Two days?  That’s fast.”  I’ve painted those apartments.  It took my sisters and me over a week.

“I think I impressed your Dad,” he said.  “I saw his schedule.  He penciled out a week.  Now I’m painting his house.  I don’t think there’ll be anything left to paint when I leave.” 

My Dad got on the cell.  “He’s following the family tradition,” he said.  “I think he is starting to like painting.”  You can learn to like anything if you’re paid well enough, I wanted to say.  Add a few compliments and lots of free lunches, and that’s what painting for my Dad is all about.  Why do you think we all like painting so much?

“My realtor wanted to give me the name of a cheap painter,” my Dad said.  “’I know of one cheaper than any you can find,’ I told her.  ‘I’m paying him in VW dollars.’”

The Jetta: I completely forgot the whole point of Evan’s trip.  “How’s the car buying coming along?”

“Saving the best part for last,” he said.  “I’m having it checked over right now.  Evan seems excited to learn how to take care of it.”

He switched into Dad-speak about car repair and I couldn’t pay attention.

“It’s nice to have Evan help out,” he said, changing the subject back to my progeny.

You know, I think he meant it.

A little help? [] 1:24:21 PM