Car-e-ful Grandparenting

There will be some personal story telling this time. Hope you will not mind.

But let me start with a boring bit. With psychology. Or gerontology, if to be more precise.

A couple of years ago, in June 1998, Peter Uhlenberg and Bradley G. Hammill, two researchers from University of North Carolina, Chapel Hill, published an article “Frequency of grandparent contact with grandchild sets: Six factors that make a difference.” As you can see from the title, the article was about relations between relatives representing different and “distant” generations. Peter and Bradley came to conclusion that there exist six factors – at least six – which predefine how close grandparents and grandchildren are. At least, in the US.

Factor Number One is geographic proximity. The longer it takes to get from one threshold to another, the more restrained relations between grandparents and grandchildren will be. Another important factor is the quality of contact between grandparents and parents. If this contact has always been cloudless, the latter will agree to “increase” the longitude of interactions between their parents and their children. Thirdly, the number of grandchildren is also of a significant importance. Or sets of grandchildren. Logics here is clear: The bigger number of young screaming individuals run around a house, the less time will remain to play with each. Fourthly, grandmothers are more willing to communicate with grandchildren than grandfathers. Fifthly, “maternal” grandparents (i.e. link through mother) are more likely to have frequent contact with grandchildren if to compare with the “fraternal” ones. Finally, the marital status matters. Married grandparents – especially grandfathers – are more active in communicating with grandchildren than their widowed, re-married or – especially – divorced counterparts.

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As you may see, Peter and Bradley did a nice research job! But what it has to do with this article?

A lot, I will say! Interaction with my grandparents helped me develop certain traits of character. As well as a certain automotive culture. And that is what I will speak of below.

Important note: As my grandmothers never drove, I will focus on grandfathers and their cars. But I should also stress - in the light of Peter's and Bradley's research - that grandmothers have always been "closer" to me.

“Fraternal” grandfather, Philareth, was a priest (Eastern tradition). He had a lot of troubles because of this in the turbulent times of World War 2. He had even more troubles in Soviet times when the religion was banned and outlawed. My dad says that he constantly needed to “run” and “hide” from an excessive KGB attention. To do this, my grandfather changed parishes before the “law enforcement” system could catch on. At certain point he performed church ordinances in absolute secrecy.

My dad also suffered for being a close relative to an “outlaw”. For instance, in 1970s, he was not accepted to a desired medical university because an anonymous letter – “accusing” my father of being a son of the priest – reached the admissions committee. Another medical university was successfully attempted afterwards. In this light the family life experience of my dad was not exemplary. My dad could not communicate with my grandfather as much as he wanted. Objectively, the bond between both evolved into something strong and unique, but complicated as well.

In late 1990s – when I evolved into a conscious individual, Ukraine gained independence, and religious practices became legal – my grandfather moved to a parish located 20 kilometres from our house. Comparatively close, but not a walking distance. At least, not for a 70 years old widowed man. In a word, I did not see my grandfather very often.

But this does not mean I could not dream of my grandfather’s cars!

The first car I know my grandfather owned was the rear-engine ZAZ-965 propelled by 23 proletarian HP. This car is often branded today as “The Pride of Soviet Plumbing.” ZAZ-965 was also the car my dad learned to drive in. As for me, I was born long after it was sold. My dad is the last living witness of its ever existence. The brightest of my dad’s memory is that my grandfather could lift ZAZ’s front end – the one without engine – above the ground barehandedly.

As a child, I dreamed of buying ZAZ-965 one day. The same as my grandfather owned. I wanted to restore it and mount wooden spoiler, hood decorations, and side skirts. Wooden, mates! Handcrafted! Can you feel the magnitude of coolness of this idea!?

This said, the biggest impact on my childhood dreams was left by grandfather’s white VAZ 2101 (Lada) “Zhiguli” with 64 semi-capitalist HP. One of the first ever vehicles of that class manufactured in the Tolyatti factory in 1970s. A major copy-paste from Fiat 124. That was a charismatic car as for my childish understanding of charisma. Its steering wheel was wrapped in a colourful net of thin intertwined wires. Its leather seats did not stink and rested under tailor made covers. Dark green with yellow flowers. Then there was a “fairy” smell in the cabin, a mixture of an old book, Old Spice, and petrol. And a biiiiig speedometer which worked perfectly, unlike in dad’s Lada Riva!

That was the car my dad drove to the maternity ward when I was born!

White VAZ 2101 caught fire in the mid-1990s. Out of the blue. My grandfather did not travel much at that time and kept the car in a garage. He warmed it up from time to time and used to take for short spins in the neighbourhood. During one of such warming ups fuel pipe disconnected. Flames burst in the engine bay. Almost all plastic elements and wires melted.

The non-operational vehicle was given to my dad and stood on our yard for almost a year. Oh dear, how I dreamed of it! No one else but me was supposed to fix it and drive it. Grandfather’s VAZ 2010 became my first self-proclaimed first car!

But I did not manage to grow old enough and fix it. My dream was sold. For $600, if I’m not wrong.

Next car my grandfather bought was Ford Fiesta Mk2. These were late 1990s when he moved to new parish in the countryside. 20 kilometres from our house and 15 kilometres from the nearest town. So, he needed to travel.

Grandfather wanted a reliable car with a diesel engine. The one which would be cheap to run and fix. And yes, diesel would not catch fire that easily. Grandfather did not specifically hunt for Fiesta from 1980s, but this was the only car on the market which met all his criteria. The engine stabled 54 modest capitalist horses, but I did not care. The car was red and, therefore, supersonic!

My brightest memory connected to this car was a post-Christmas trip to a distant village. My dad drove Fiesta to collect my grandfather, who had had some very good time with his fellow priests and could not drive home by himself. I was sitting at the back seat, staring around, and dreaming. This car was better than VAZ 2101. Its dashboard was slick, functional, and marvellous! Undoubtedly, Fiesta was supposed to become mine. Fiesta became my first self-proclaimed inevitable legacy! One by one a range of ideas how to modify it popped up in my head. Black side skirts – similar to those we had in our Lada Riva – were a must!

Grandfather sold this car in early 2000s without any warnings. This made me angry and deeply frustrated. But I survived.

The car was sold because of the diesel engine, actually. As my dad says, the engine was too complicated and too non-Soviet. Grandfather could not maintain it himself. To make things worse, there were no spare parts on the market. Mates, to reach the closest Ford servicing centre you had to cover more than 100 km! To buy spares you needed to hire a chap with a minibus who would drive it to Poland – or even further to the West – and fetch spares from there. In a word, fixing Ford could take weeks.

Then my grandfather bought VAZ 2102. It was the same as 2101 model but in estate body. My grandfather’s choice was disastrous that time. The car required a fundamental fix. For instance, its breaking system was worn to such an extent that the previous owner had patched its mechanisms with pieces of clothes. The only thing everyone liked with this car was its light purple colour.

Granddad did not drive VAZ 2102 very often as he was comparatively old by that time. Actually, this car was the last in his life. I developed no bond to it.

“Maternal” grandfather, Yaroslav, is professor of geography. Maternal line, according to Peter and Bradley, is supposed to be closer. And it was. I spent eight years of my life leaving under one roof with my grandfather (and grandmother). Can not say that we communicated very often, but I could count on any kind of his assistance on my first request. Also, I consulted some major life choices with him. That was a much different than with my grandfather Philaret, whom I never felt that close. But who had cars I dreamed of!

Grandfather Yaroslav has driving licence but does not drive. Actually, he never liked driving. Instead, in a case of need, he could “cast” a vehicle and a driver out of the air. And he always liked sitting at the passenger’s seat looking at things and landscapes.

In his life, my grandfather travelled a lot. As geographer and soil scientist, he spent months in the Central Asian republics of Soviet Union. Or in the mountains of Western Ukraine or Caucasus. But he never owned his own car. Although he bought a garage!

In my family, I am constantly being compared to my grandfather. Both of us are tall and thin. Both of us are scientists. Our life values look similar. With this in mind I have always been afraid of not loving to drive. Not to mention that it took me a decade longer than my brother to get the licence. But I like driving!

Moreover, from what I know, my grandfather has a picture of Christine somewhere in his phone and likes glancing at it from time to time. He seems to be proud that I can drive and that I drive this kind of a car. At least, that is what my grandmother says.

Driver: Petter Solberg, WRC legend

Driver: Petter Solberg, WRC legend

To finish this story, mates, grandparents matter! Both of my grandfathers could not but influenced me. One made me dream of cars. Another made me overcome the “doom” of not-driving.

This leads me to the point that the presence of grandparents in our lives is immense! It generates experience, expectations, and dreams. Along with frustrations and phobias. And the amount of interactions should not necessarily be high for a major impact.

Finally, I hope one day my grandchildren will read this story and understand that I am not that kind of a boring old fart. And that I lived an interesting life. And that there may be a “secret” garage somewhere in the neighbourhood with their four-wheeled legacy waiting. At least, let they dream!

#acadrive, #story, #originalcontent, #smalltribesrule, #car, #cars, #philosophy, #car-philosophy, #Lada, #Riva, #vaz, #zhiguli, #2101, #2102, #communistcar, #commicar, #story, #lifestory, #psychology, #gerontology,

P.S. Matt Parsons can be reached here: www.behance.net/Matthew_Parsons_SA