This afternoon, I found myself taking Atlas on a series of mini-adventures – many of which, I did with my Dad when I was little. On one stop in particular – a visit to our local Auto Zone – I felt as if I were retracing the same footsteps my Dad walked with me.
A few nights ago, I took the fuel rail out of the 944 so that I could install new fuel injectors (hopefully the final fix for a rough idle) and I decided to call it a night after wrestling with the fitment of the new fuel rail line I bought a few weeks ago; upgrading the rubber hose for a heat-resistant braided fuel line from Lindsay Racing.
I thought a lot about my Dad while I was working on the 944 that night. Perhaps it was the smell of ‘garage’ or the clink of tools as I unbolted the fuel rail from the engine bay. If those things weren’t enough to remind me of Dad, the smell and feel of Gojo soap at the end of the working session certainly was…
With the injector ports neatly covered and the fuel rail left to dry out on my workbench, I went inside and made a mental note that I’d return to finish the job with Atlas – which involved installin the new fuel injectors and finishing up the fitment of the braided fuel rail line which, try as I might, I couldn’t get to fit properly on the rail.
Tonight, we took the fuel rail to Auto Zone and asked one of the workers if they had any ‘elbows’ that could help the fitment. As he diagnosed the part and tried his best to find the appropriate parts, Atlas perused the shelves and pointed out tools that he wanted me to buy for him. It was then that I was reminded of the many times my Dad took me to the ‘car parts store’ with a dirty part in his hand – doing the same thing I did this evening.
As I went through the rounds with the employee, we eventually came to the conclusion that adjusting the fuel damper would do the trick to get the fuel line to connect to the rail properly and without unnecessary bend. Atlas got a beef jerky and I returned to the garage with him, eager to see if our assumption about the damper was correct.
WIth Atlas sitting on my tool box, I took out two adjustable wrenches and got to work while he watched me – gnawing though a massive rope of beef jerky. It fit perfectly.
As I went to re-install the fuel rail, Atlas chirped:
“Dad, what about the snakeskin?” – referring to the heat-resistant band of insultherm, meant to go around the fuel line.
“Atlas, you’re absolutely right. We’ve gotta put that part on too!” I replied, as I removed the fuel line for the last time before adding the protective covering and reinstalling on the rail, along with the newly-installed fuel injectors, which slid right in – aided by o-ring lubricant.
There were a lot of amazing memories I shared with my Dad before he died, but ‘garage time’ was my all-time favorite. Despite countless times being told to ‘use the right tool for the job’ I felt a sense of bonding with my Dad when we were in that sacred space of Craftsman tools, motor oil and power tools I was afraid to operate without his supervision and guidance.
There’s a special bond that’s shared betwen a Father and Son; one that nobody else on the plane[t] can replicate. It’s composed of the memories where each party can say “I did that with my Dad…” and then passed down to their own child[ren] as time passes.
It means a lot to me to ‘work’ with Atlas, as well as see him sprout and grow confidence as he ‘fixes’ things around the house, or on the 944.
Last week, I ordered a part I didn’t really need (but wanted) specifically so that he could have a ‘job’ to do on the 944; replacing the black plastic e-brake button with a machined aluminum part from only944.com. When it arrived, I pondered simply installing it myself, but realized that doing so would deprive Atlas of an opportunity to see a part on the car and say “I did that.” when showing it off.
Today, I watched as he installed the part; carefully twisting it into position before asking me to do the final round of tightening. The look of pride and satisfaction on his face was absolutely priceless.
As we checked out (the beef jerky) at Auto Zone, the employee stopped to ask what kind of car the fuel rail belonged to.
“It’s from a 1985 Porsche 944, and it belongs to this guy here.” I said, while pointing to Atlas. “It’ll be his first car.”
“Man, I’d be happy if that were my LAST car” the employee responded.
Atlas looked up at both of us and beamed with joy and pride, knowing we were talking about ‘his’ car.
As time goes by, I continue to gain a deeper appreciation for the love and bond that’s shared between Father and Son. There are many sacred things in life, and this connection is one that matters more to me than anything.
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