Jumping in the Backseat

My parents always drove old cars when I was young. These old cars may not have been the most happening ride on the block but they made up for lack of style with character. We named each of them which gave them each a personality and we can laugh just recalling them. Old Blue was a little rusty sedan that gave you a view of the pavement passing below if you lifted the rug by the drivers seat. Big Banana got its name because it was big and looked like a banana just past its prime, yellow with fake wood paneling down the sides. It was the first car we owned with automatic windows and door locks. We felt like something else driving that car. Festus was a little white car passed down from Perc when he left on a mission. The Hulk was a big green station wagon and its name reflected the interests of the kids riding inside of it as much as its bulk traveling down the road. The Tuna Boat was a station wagon bought from friends and was named because it was big and gray and the teenagers crammed inside felt like tuna stacked in the hold. (It was too big to be a sardine can.) One of the last truly memorable cars was The Battlecruiser. It was a $200 special with two different colored doors and rotting tires. As it was purchased to move kids back and forth to college Dad arranged to have it repainted. A mistake at the painters changed it from a soft yellow to a bright neon yellow better suited to a Corvette than a land barge. You could spot the car a mile away and with the addition of its title printed on the back with contact paper letters it was a car that would not be mistaken for anyone else’s.

Of course being older vehicles they required maintenance and nurturing to keep them running. While usually reliable, sometimes they just didn’t want to go, or creaked and groaned and made other strange noises. I remember my mother patting the dashboard and assuring the vehicle that it could make it up the hill.

One Sunday experience stands out in my mind. We were living in Saginaw, MI. Dad was the bishop in the ward which meant that he left early for church, leaving Mom to get the kids ready and out the door. This particular Sunday we were running a bit late but were still on track to make it to church just on time. Mom herded the four of us into the back seat of the car and she got in behind the wheel. She turned the key and nothing happened. She tried again murmuring words of encouragement to the reluctant engine. It grated and whirred but didn’t turn over. One more try left my mother frustrated and convinced that it wasn’t going to start. She was near tears with frustration as she told us to sit still while she went inside the house to call someone to assist us, although she knew it was late enough that everyone would already have left for church.

Somewhat excited by the turn of events, we, of course, did not sit still in the back seat. We bounced up and down, laughed and giggled, and bounced some more. Mom returned to the car. No one had been home but she was going to try the car again. We sat back in our seats expectantly as she turned the key. A couple of sputters and then the engine turned over. We were on our way to church.

I am sure that it was Mom’s prayers that got the car running that day but the four young children in the back seat were convinced that jumping up and down in the back seat had kick started the engine. For years after, even at college with The Battlecruiser, when a car didn’t start on the first try someone would jokingly yell, “Try jumping up and down in the back seat!”