For as long as I can remember I've been a car guy. Growing up in the south Bronx in the 70's, my Pops never knew a thing about cars. Sure, if we broke down on the side of the road he'd pop the hood and take a look. But sure enough each time, like clockwork, he'd plop back down into the drivers seat after about 5 minutes, let out a sigh, and make up some nonsense about why he couldn't fix it and would have his buddy Bruce take a look at it. I could tell it bothered Ma, she tried her best to hide it but you could read it all over her face. I guess she was just one of those ladies who likes "real men".
That must've left an impression on me. As soon as I got my first car (a 74 Celica GT) I refused to ever let another man touch it. That continues to this day. I go to this autozone anytime I need something to maintain or fix my 2012 Xterra (not for sale!). The store is clean, well stocked, and the employees are kind and courteous. They also really know their stuff, they can also give some pretty good advice. Not that I'd need it! I'm a car guy. As incredible as every visit is, I always wonder if my old man had a place like this maybe he would've learned a thing or two about fixing his car. Maybe things would've turned out different.
My Pops car got in such bad shape at one point that we were taking it over to Bruce's every week. To avoid upsetting Ma, he would tell her me and him were going fishing. Bruce operated his own unofficial shop out of his own garage at home. My parents had been good friends with him in high school, and although my mother clearly didn't care for him anymore I could tell my father enjoyed seeing him still. I always enjoyed when we'd go over. Bruce would set me down on his living room couch in front of the tube and give me free reign over the fridge while he and my father would go out to the garage. Bruce was a bachelor, I always thought his life looked far more appealing than my Pops. He just cruised through life unbothered by anything. In contrast to our home life, with our money problems and my parents crumbling marriage, Bruce looked like he had it all figured out. After about an hour or two each time, Bruce and my father would emerge from the garage, red in their faces and drenched in sweat, putting their shirts back on. Bruce was trying to teach my father how to fix the car. But considering we were taking it over there each week, he must've not been too good either. One day when we got back home, I accidentally let something slip about Bruce's house. I looked at my father, his face paralyzed. Panning over to my mother she simply put on an insincere smile and said "dinner is ready". We ate in complete silence that night. Wasting no time after for small talk or pleasantries. I went to my room immediately after dinner, it hardly seemed appropriate to watch TV given the mood of the room. I heard my parents arguing all night until emotional exhaustion kicked in and sent me to sleep. My father was gone the next morning.
I never saw my father again. The few times I asked my mother she simply said "he's staying with Bruce". Whether or not that was true or accurate I can't say. I always envisioned he and Bruce living that bachelor lifestyle I envied. Getting hot and sweaty in the garage, doing whatever they wanted, and chasing ladies.
So why do I shop at AutoZone? Perhaps it's to seek approval from my mother. Maybe it makes me think I'll be more like Bruce and it will make my father come home despite him being long gone. Maybe it's because it's the only thing that stops the crystal clear, debilitating memory of blood curdling screams and dry throated sobbing associated with the night my father left. It might be all of these things but most of all it's the people. read more
