Personal Narrative: My First Car

Do you remember your first car? Was it an old beat up Camry? Mom’s hand-me-down van? A new Mercedes complete with a big bow on the hood the day it was gifted to you? Whatever it was, I bet mine is a better story. My car is an old Chevy truck, a 1984 lifted Silverado C20 to be exact. It was my dad’s old ride, with peeling blue paint and a boat load of mechanical problems. Not to mention the $1500 in tires and rims that I just spent. But that doesn’t matter, I’m in love. The first time I hopped behind the wheel it was a hot day, the air sticky with humidity. I sat down on gray fleece seat cover and a thorn poked me through my grimy cotton shorts. I was thirteen and the big black wheel with the Chevy emblem loomed in front of my gangly arms,

A stiff breeze rustled the dry grass and a noticeable drop in air temperature signified autumn. Once again I sat behind that big black wheel with the Chevy emblem and cranked the key. The engine roared its deep, hot breath and the whole cab rattled with power. I backed out of the driveway and headed down to my dad’s auto shop. When I got there, he already had everything laid out - the wrenches and pliers, acetone, sanding orbital. I snapped on my dust mask and gloves and got to work unbolting all the accessories on the truck; the silver trim was soon sitting in a box by the door, the burnt out headlights in the garbage. Essentially it was just a bare hunk of faded blue metal sitting on bald tires. That was day one. The next weekend the painting actually began. Dressed in white painters suits, wearing respirators, goggles, and gloves my dad and I tag teamed the first layer of primer. I wiped down the surface of the truck with acetone and tack cloth first while he followed along with the paint gun. After the first coat of primer was on, I sanded it and then added another. That was day two. A few days later it would turn from a light grey to a darker grey with another coat of primer. Finally the day came to spray color. We practiced the ratios of thinner and hardener, mixing them so I could have it ready when the gun needed a refill. Once the spraying began the air in the booth was thick with a fog of blue paint. At the end, the truck that had been a faded and dented hunk of steel on wheels was transformed into a beautiful car. It was finished. One compressor was lost in the process and countless paint fumes were inhaled, but it was