I’m ashamed to say I can’t tell you when the last time I hand washed my car. It’s been even longer since I waxed a car. In my younger single days, I would hardly be seen with a dirty ride. I believed I washed my car almost weekly. When I was away from home, I was one of those people who brought the bucket and cloths to the car wash bay and used the spray nozzle just to apply soap and to rinse. I was too afraid that the soap brush would scratch the finish on my ride. The one car I did take pride in maintaining was my black Third Generation Mazda RX-7. There is nothing like the look of a freshly waxed black car. That was one smooth ride. It turned heads wherever I went. I was very proud of that car.
The picture in this post is one of my last pictures from the Franklin on the Fourth Festival taken on Independence Day. I was delighted to see this image when I got my scans. It was a surprise because I forgot I had taken this shot. That’s one of the little jewels of shooting film. At first glance, I thought I was looking back in time. The black and white portrayal coupled with the older gentleman wiping the water droplets off the hood of his car is a scene right out of the fifties. The only thing missing was the Phillips 66 filling station backdrop. Now that I am more mature, although my wife might think differently, I find it silly to be proud of a car, at least the ones you buy off a lot. However, what I captured in this picture is more than just pride in a car.