Hobbes Came Home

 Again.

I have lost track of how many times my son's 1989 Toyota Supra has made its way back to our driveway. He bought it back when he was seventeen. For the past eight years, he has rolled from home. First from school, then from college. And now he is prepping his automotive friend for yet another voyage: away from home once again. 

There was a time when there was grave uncertainty about whether our son would be able to achieve escape velocity. He was very much a homebody who enjoyed the comfort of knowing exactly where everyone and everything was. Not a huge fan of adventures that took him away from his the things he loved the most. That is where Hobbes stepped in. Named for Calvin's ubiquitous tiger friend, Hobbes was the stuffed animal that he could take with him to the dorms. He was the cocoon for those lonely autumn nights when loneliness crept in. 

Keeping a car from another century on the road is a challenge in the most relaxed circumstances, but somewhere in there my son got the wild notion that this late model sports car could really use a bigger engine, and so he bought the corpse of a Lexus with a V8 and proceeded to take the year after he graduated from college to make the transference. 

As I have mentioned in this space before, I have very little automotive knowledge other than that which has been patiently spoon-fed to me by my son. Changing oil is something that can be done by the folks at Jiffy-Lube. The only sound I notice my engine making is when it stops making noise. This, for me is a bad sign. My son often diagnoses other's car trouble as we drive past them on the highway. Creating the Super Supra Hobbes was a challenge, but one he seems to have been destined. 

Eventually, he got himself a deal on another Lexus. Another V8. This was for the commutes he imagined himself making at some point. Hobbes waited patiently on the street or in the garage, knowing that when it was time for a show, he would be polished up and made ready. It was on one of these track experiences that he fell ill. A transmission difficulty. Hobbes would not move. For several months, Hobbes sat on a driveway in Santa Cruz. Meanwhile, Covid surged and unemployment plagued and all manner of other things kept the two of them apart. 

Finally, my son passed his physical, signed a contract and rejoined the ranks of the cash enabled. He bought the forty dollar part that would bring Hobbes roaring back to life and the two were reunited once again. In our driveway. 

Not long from now, my son and Hobbes will back down that driveway once again, off to more adventures tempting time and fate, but with a socket set and a working knowledge of the 1989 Supra owner's manual that rivals that of the folks who wrote it. I am expecting that my son will drive me to my funeral in his car. Because that is how things work in our driveway.