October 8, 2012
Houston My grandfather used to love telling
this story, and I remember the day it happened.
I used to enjoy watching
PawPaw, Uncle Gene, or other folks work on their cars, and I had "big ears" and so picked
up, at an early age, some of the lingo they used.
There was a
neighbor who was tinkering with his car early one day. I was perhaps
four or five years old. I stood around watching him with great
interest. The man would sometimes get frustrated with his car,
because, no matter what he did, it still wouldn’t start. So I
decided to help diagnose the problem:
“Got SPARK?” I asked. He
replied in the affirmative.
“Got GAS?” He said:
“Uh-HUH.”
“Must be the CARBURETOR!”
came my diagnosis.
The man continued to work on
his car until dusk, when the jalopy finally came to life! The man
later came up to my PawPaw and shook his hand.
“You know,” he began, “I
shoulda listened to that kid this morning. He was right all along…
it was the CARBURETOR!
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