Volvo

I made this blog so my family and I could write down some of our favorite memories of our dad. I haven't done much posting on it. I've had a hard time sleeping tonight because I ate too much artichoke dip today, I thought I'd write down some thought I've had in my head.
I teach a Sunday school class and I was going to integrate this story in my lesson this weeks.



When I turned 16 and was getting ready to drive my dad bought a Volvo from my uncle Troy. At the time I was a spoiled teenager and just the thought of driving a Volvo was repulsive to me. I grew up in "Redneckville, Utah", a farming community where everyone drives pick-up trucks and SUVs the boxy 1980's Volvo was not what I had in mind for my first car.

The car was grey with a pealing clear coat pain on over the top of it. I had done some body work on cars in the past with my dad and I'd had a lot of fun with it. I decided to paint the ugly car my favorite car midnight blue.

Dad agreed to help me paint if if I did all the body work. I spent a lot of time everyday after school sanding and filling in dents with body filler. It was a lot of work. I put in a lot of blood sweat and tears.

I was so excited when I finished. One Friday Afternoon dad took me to NAPA. I flipped through books of paint chips searching for the color I had dreamed of my car being. I vasalated between colors. I think the store was getting ready to close and I finally picked on. The next morning I spent several hours helping dad mask the car, covering all the parts to keep from being painted. I spent detailed work making sure all the lines along the windows were straight and smooth.

We only had one mask and, of course, only one paint gun. I went in the house and dad painted the car I was so excited.

I came out to look at my newly painted car... and it was HORRIBLE. The beautiful midnight blue color I had envisioned looked like a robin egg blue with a touch of psychedelic sheen. It was not the car I had envisioned.

I tried not to let my disappointment show on my face after all my dad had just spent a lot of time and money trying to make me happy.

I said something like 'wow... dad..... thanks, um, I really appriciate it.'

He asked 'do you like it?'



I couldn't speak because I knew I'd break into tears so I just nodded.

I went in the house huddled up in my room and burst into tears. All my hard work for nothing. The new car color was even worse than the cracked and chipped clear coat.

There was a knock on my door and my dad came in. I tried to stop crying I really did. But he could obviously tell I wasn't happy.

'It will darken up, when it dries,' he tried to reassure me.

'Yeah, I know how dark do you think it will be?' I asked.

'I'm not sure what color where you hoping for?' I pulled out my favorite midnight blue T-shirt to show him. I could tell from the look on his face that it was not the color my car would be. I tried not to cry again.

We waited a few hours the car was still hideous. And the worst part was that it was all my fault it was hideous I'd picked the color.

Stupid NAPA autoparts and their dump deceptive paint chips! I went back in my room to sulk.

Dad came in and told me to go get in the truck. I got in the truck hopeful that he had thought of a chemical we could put on it to darken it up. We drove back to NAPA autoparts and he let me pick out a whole new color. We got home and he repainted the whole car over again.




Since it had 2 coats of paint the outer layer had the texture of an orange peal in some places but it was wonderful it was the color I'd really wanted.

Later on I considered how much the whole adventure cost I probably spent about $100 in supplies doing the body work.
The first coat of pain was ~ $200 and then the second coat was ~ $200 dollars more. I'm not sure how much the primer and supplies for the paint gun were but lets say it was ~ $100.
All said and done my dad spent nearly $600 dollars to make his little girl happy.
I think we bought the care for $500 dollars from my uncle, so we put more into it than it was probably worth.

The moral of the story is that my dad cared a lot about making us happy teaching us skills (like doing body work on cars) and just making sure we knew he loved us.

I cringe when I think about how much time and money he spent on fixing my mistake that day. But overall it really made me feel that he loved me.