The Car

It was a must-have photograph back in those days. Every time we got a new car – and let’s not fool ourselves, a “new car” meant a car new to us – there had to be a photograph of my father standing next to it or sat inside it. The photograph would need to show off to the best advantage the shining chrome bumpers and the freshly polished bonnet. Not only was I the photographer, I would have had to clean the car before the photo shoot. I still have the scars on the back of my hands from polishing behind those sharp chrome bumper bars. My father took such a pride in his cars, to him they were a yardstick of success. This particular “new car” will probably have been in the late 1960s or early 1970s. The car is long gone: the photograph and the memory lingers on.

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