Restoring Stanley
I've been helping my dad restore a 1971 Chevy C10 pickup truck and having a ball, but it's really all a lead up to the upcoming main event.
After I got home from Maui, my dad, Scott (who I affectionately call Scotty, mostly because he hates it) called me. He asked me the question I’ve been waiting for: do you want to help me restore Stanley?
Whole heartedly, the answer was yes.
Stanley is a 1971 Chevy C10 pickup truck. It’s original owner was my Aunt Debbie’s dad, Stan. When Stan passed away, my dad got the truck. At first, he drove it around. But it became clear pretty early on that it needed a lot of work. Dad’s been saving it for a full restoration, and here we are! Diving in.
I’ve only been helping for a few days but it’s been a godsend. My writing has been uninspired lately (I blame querying) and I really needed something to occupy my mind. Plus, who doesn’t want to spend hours in a garage with their dad, listening to ‘70’s music and playing with power tools?! And there’s Dad’s sense of humor to love.
While I was trying to get the fuel tank to dislodge from the back of the cab, Kellbell came down to check on our progress and take photos. I was using a torque wrench on this nut and couldn’t get it to budge, which was annoying since Mom was watching and I am never not showing off.
Over the music, I yelled, “Scotty, this nut is being super nutty.”
His head quickly popped up from the other side of the exposed engine, eyes narrowed and looking comically stern.
“Your mother is standing right there.” He looked truly exasperated, really turning it on.
Best part about it was that Kellbell didn’t get it until I explained it.
“He’s saying you’re the nut.”
Understanding dawned on her face, followed by mock outrage. “Scott!”
I’m retired, but I don’t know how long that’ll last. Honestly, it’ll be at least a year. Getting to spend this time with my favorite person, the darkly funny, sarcastic and playful Scotty, is making me so happy.
Growing up, my dad had a construction business and apartment buildings. My job on weekends and during summer break was helping him with construction projects. I’ve done just about everything you can think of, including painting a four-plex with a four inch brush, as detailed in this Substack article. So I’m well-versed in power tools and the various materials we’ll need for this project, but the car world is a bit different.
Dad started without me (rude) so by the time I showed up, he had taken the bed off the frame, as well as the hood and fenders. I jumped in to help remove the fuel tank, unplug all of the electrical from the engine to the cab, and prepped the cab for removal. Before we could get there though, we also had to remove the windows and doors. Essentially, we needed the cab bare in order to lift it off the frame.
And we’re doing all this stripping because Dad bought a different frame to use on Stanley. It’s an old Chevy Suburban frame that has four-wheel drive, something Stanley was lacking.
Once we removed everything necessary, placing screws and hardware in labeled plastic bags for later, we wheeled the frame out of the garage and into the sunlight. Dad used his tractor to remove the cab so we could work on prepping the frame.
Dad was right about the Suburban frame. Stanley’s going to fit perfectly on it. All we need to do is move a few brackets and cut a few inches of frame off the back. Dad did all that this weekend, again without me (again, rude) but my brother, Ian, helped him so can’t be mad (never actually mad).
My dad turns 70 in a few weeks. Still haven’t bought him a gift, but my presence in his garage is gift enough, right? Don’t all parents want to spend hours with their child, ordering them around and having them do the dirty chores you don’t want to do yourself? Isn’t that enough? I think it might be.
But really, this is a gift for me. I’ve been unmoored lately by my early, and mental-health related retirement. I really need this. And I think Scotty knew that.
So between incessantly checking my email for any updates from agents and trying to get inspired to finished my horror novel, I’m now a truck mechanic.
I know. I am multi-faceted and multi-talented. It’s my cross to bear.
I tell you this story about Stanley as a precursor. Because the main event is yet to come. Last year, my friend Sarah told me she wanted to restore a Bronco. Low and behold, Scotty has a 1980’s Bronco that needs a ton of work. Sarah and I pitched an idea to Dad: Sarah and I take the laboring oar on the Bronco and restore it as a two woman team. With Scotty in the background telling us what to do.
When we pitched this, he was in the middle of a different project and didn’t have room in his garage. When he was done with that project, he wanted to do Stanley instead of the Bronco. I continue to not understand why he won’t pause his own projects so that two middle-aged, perimenopausal women with a dream they’ve had for two weeks can take over the one place he feels the happiest for their own amusement and (most likely) fuck up his car so that he has to fix it. It’s really selfish when you think about it.
But he assures me the Bronco is next. So we wait, patiently, for our turn in the sun. But I’m getting my feet wet with Stanley and learning a few things so when it’s finally time for Sarah and I to get our hands dirty, I won’t be completely useless.
I started an Instagram page called @RestoringStanley if you want to follow along. Don’t forget I’m on TikTok and Instagram as @Heylinds.overhere. I’m funny on multiple channels. Again, my cross to bear. Hope to see you there and as always:
Remember, stay difficult and always question authority.
Calling your father 'Scotty' made me think of all the different names I've been called over the years, including the more recent transition back to Trey after years of being called Dad or Mr. Whitaker.
P.S. - Thanks for the Skyjo recommendation.
You make me laugh out loud! I love "Scotty"! We go way back, Wehmeyer days. The first appliances my late husband and I bought were from there. He's a good man.