Posted by on Dec 10, 2011 in Photographs, Sacred People | 0 comments

This may sound a bit odd to most people with the high prices of gas these days, but the mere act of filling my tank, even just the strong scent of gasoline makes me smile.  You see,  it brings back fond memories of time spent with Dad.

I remember as a small girl, every Saturday my father would take my little hand in his and safely guide me across Cambridge street to Hardy’s Service Station just two blocks away from our apartment. That was back in the day when attendants raced out to pump the gas for you, check your oil, and clean your windshield without being asked.

There were three service bays at the station always filled with big, huge cars needing repair.  My Dad would hold tightly to my hand, sometimes even sit me on the hood of a car so I could see better as he shared stories with Mr. Hardy.  They’d both been mechanics in the Army Air Corp during WWII.

As a result, the smell of gas, oil, and grease became imbedded in my senses in a good way.  Now, whenever I smell the scent of gas, my mind returns to those wonderful days and that special time I spent with my dad.   And . . . I’ll never forget the lesson he taught me in those simpler times.  “Never look down at a man with grease under his fingernails. We can’t all be doctors, lawyers and Indian chiefs. After all, kid, someone’s gotta fix their cars.

~J.K. Ingersoll~

 

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