I loved that car with its Three-On-A Tree" shifter, and its economical V-6 engine. It had plenty of power, but it was no muscle car. (pictured above)
I took it out-of-state several times and put a lot of miles on it before going into the Army in 1969. When I came home from Vietnam in 1970, my beloved Chevy was up on blocks, and the tires were gone.
I left my Chevy at my parents' house when I went overseas. During my tour my dad let my cousin (who had been kicked out of his house) use it while he stayed with them and could get a job and find a place of his own.
Meanwhile he did a job on my poor car. He blew every gasket the car had and fried the engine. It took him a year, while I was tromping through the jungles of Vietnam and Cambodia, to accomplish this act of destruction.
However, I was so glad to be back "in the world" I never got mad at him and wrote it off. I'd learned a few things about prioritization in my young life and understood it wasn't worth getting angry over. As Viet vets said back then, "It don't mean nuthin'"
Fast forward.
He is no longer alive, and I'm glad that I reacted the way I did when I saw my car on those concrete blocks and knew he was the culprit.
I should point out that he went on to become an ordained minister and had his own church in northern Oregon. I know he did good works and helped a lot of people spiritually and physically. He liked to tell his flock about how he ruined my car, but I didn't get mad at him.
That made me feel good, like maybe I had done at least one thing right in my chaotic life when I came back to civilization. Our friendship even extended to playing basketball. He died while playing a game with some of the churches' youths.
He was a big man, in more ways than one, and died from a massive heart attacked that dropped him like a tree before the horrified youths. I was told that he died instantly.
As it Stands, Life is full of lessons, and I'm sure there's many more I'll learn before checking out for the final time.
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