When he was little, he spent hours lining up his Hot Wheels just so.
“What are you doing?” I asked.
“It’s the parking lot at church,” he told me. Car to car, he explained who each owner was according to where they parked every Sunday morning.
He’d matched his toys to the real cars by the types of spokes and wheels.
A mother can be worried and fascinated at the same time.
Around the age of six, he announced: “I’m going to get a Cadillac when I grow up.”
“Oh, you are?” I responded, attempting to keep a straight face.
He nodded his head emphatically. “Yes. A blue one.”
His grandparents drove a blue Sedan de Ville. My husband’s stepfather bought it new in 1989, with forty miles on it.
I could understand the appeal. My boy was obsessed with cars. When I was growing up, I loved my grandparents’ car, too: a vivid red 1964 Ford Galaxie 500 (see A long time ago in a Galaxie far, far away).
The boy has always known exactly what he likes and doesn’t like, what he wants and doesn’t want. There are no proverbial shades of gray with him. He loves dogs. He loves music, especially old gospel songs. I joke that he was born seventy-five years old and he has never disagreed. When he fell in love with Cadillacs at age six, it was forever.
He began collecting Cadillac memorabilia, knew all the latest models and years. He knew the old ones, too.
“Ma-Ma and Pa-Pa say the Cadillac goes to me when they’re gone,” he said, his big brown eyes aglow, around age ten.
The de Ville was, at that point, twenty years old.
“I’m glad they want you to have it,” I tell him, even as I think Buddy, by that time the old car won’t be worth having . . .
Pa-Pa, a jolly, larger-than-life Scotsman, took meticulous care of his Cadillac, but after his death in 2014, it just sat in the driveway. Undriven. The seasons came with their ravages, year after year: summer’s blazing sun, autumn leaves gathering layer upon layer, winter’s snow and ice, spring’s thick coating of pollen.
Ma-Ma died last fall. We began cleaning out the house, my husband’s childhood home.
Our boy said, “It’s time to get the Cadillac.”
My husband and I looked at each other.
We looked at the de Ville.
It looked forlorn, awful.
But, to honor Ma-Ma and Pa-Pa’s promise to their little grandson long ago, we decided to see what could be done.
We had the car towed to the place where Pa-Pa bought it almost thirty years before. With a new battery, it fired right up, despite four years of sitting completely idle. It got new brakes, new fluids, new tires, and a much-needed bath.
The service rep called my husband: “You’re not going to believe it’s the same car. Everyone here thinks it ought to be in the showroom.”
We were skeptical . . . but the rep was right.
The boy—now a man—drove his father and me to the dealership to get the Cadillac, to bring it home.
It sat in the service area, waiting, gleaming, as if age and time had no meaning.
Touching the hood lightly with his fingers, our son whispered, “I wish Pa-Pa could see it.”
He took the wheel. His dad rode shotgun beside him.
I followed behind, marveling, as my son, at last, drove his shiny blue Cadillac down the country back roads into the setting sun.
Somewhere over the rainbow
skies are blue
and the dreams that you dare to dream
really do come true.
I note that when Judy Garland sings this line in The Wizard of Oz, she’s leaning on a big wheel.
*******
On the de Ville’s front grille is a medallion with the Roman numeral VI. Our son learned that this is a Heritage of Ownership emblem given to Cadillac owners for each vehicle.
This was Pa-Pa’s sixth Cadillac.
Heritage emblems are not given anymore.
lit bits and pieces 
I always love reading your writing and this slice is no exception. It’s structured beautifully and filled with craft. Those single lines are so effective. This one made me laugh, as it struck a chord: “A mother can be worried and fascinated at the same time.” So well put. I’m delighted your son got his shiny blue Cadillac and I’m even happier that you wrote about it and took us along the journey.
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Spokes
and wheels
have appeal.
They are all motion
merely standing
still.
— doing some line-lifting to leave poems as comments this morning. Thank you for the inspiration.
-Kevin
http://dogtrax.edublogs.org
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The Cadillac man himself read the comment on this post and he loved your poem response. Wanted you to know.
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What a great slice of Cadillac. I never knew such detail of a car type. It’s great how you captured the moment of honor in bringing the car home.
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The line “A mother can be worried and fascinated at the same time” is GOLDEN. This Slice is gorgeous. Such a sense of your son and his grandfather, so much love in here. Loved every last line. 🙂
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Always loved me a Caddy, too. I want a ride!!!
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Wish granted. Say when. Your young driver stands ready. 🙂 He says it drives “like a cloud.”
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Another great slice. So many memories shared all wrapped up in the symbolism of that Cadillac. Thank you for sharing. Always a privilege to read your writing.
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Wow; how many of us see our childhood dreams come to fruition, and so grandly! Beautifully written, an ode to grandparents and your son alike.
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Another beautiful slice so meticulously crafted bringing the past and present together in a dream fulfilled. I read this to my husband (he is a car fanatic) and his reaction was horror to the fact the car sat outside for four years. Blasphemy according to him. 🙂 Cars are treated with loving care, always. I really loved the description of it as it sat through the seasons.
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First, thank you; I am glad you enjoyed the story. Please tell your husband that Pa-Pa would have been equally horrified about the four years, as up until his passing, he kept the Cadillac in the garage. Apparently it was moved outside to make passers-by think someone was at home while Ma-Ma was still living there alone. There are undoubtedly a dozen other, better ways to have accomplished this, but … that’s the story, and perhaps an even greater testimonial to the Cadillac quality!
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Our sons are two peas in a pod. ♡ I love, “worried and fascinated at the same time” as well. Perfectly stated.
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This is a beautiful story. For one thing, it kept me rapt even though I’m definitely not a “car person.” I, too, lined up Matchbox and Hot wheel cars as a kid. According to my mom, I knew every car model on the road as a three and four-year-old, but for some reason my car fascination waned over the years. Perhaps because my father became such a utilitarian over the years, keeping the same Plymouth Valiant for 22 years so that I never experienced a new car after age 5. Still, I love your son’s steadfastness in this story, and I love the way it links the present to the past…or keeps the past running through the present.
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Thank you and it intrigues me how you loved to play with the cars and knew the models at such a young age, too. I also love the last line of your comment, linking the present to the past or keeping the past running through the present; that exactly captures this experience. It captures life.
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“Touching the hood lightly with his fingers, our son whispered, “I wish Pa-Pa could see it.” This is the part that touched me. I love kids who honor and think of family. I’ll bet that car runs forever.
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Oh how this slice brought tears of joy and grief to my eyes. I’m so happy that your son has his grandfather’s car and that it still runs beautifully as the day it was originally brought home.
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