The Girly Tomboy

CREDIT: Megan Ortiz, Mean-Baby.com At Lone Star Exotic Rentals in Austin

Growing up, I played with Barbies and paper dolls, and braided my sister’s hair.  I didn’t climb trees, or play in the dirt, or build soapbox cars.  I hated (still hate) bugs and was not in the least bit athletically inclined.  In fact, I remember very clearly getting hit in the forehead with a soccer ball in gym class in seventh grade.  Dustin Tavernier kicked it toward me from ten feet away, and the next thing I knew, I was on the ground looking up at the anxious face of my teacher.   

Soccer was not my favorite sport after that.  Ditto for baseball after getting a bloody fat lip from playing catch.  My smart mother enrolled me in ballet classes at age six, and that was probably the thing that saved me from utter klutziness.

Although I grew up in a family of two girls, my father had grown up with three brothers, and without even realizing it, he instilled an appreciation for cars and sports into my head, even before I was interested in them myself.  Over time, attending car shows with my dad became “our thing”.  I have fantastic memories of walking the car show grounds with my father and he would point out makes and models for me.   As a result, the cars that generally take my breath away are the late-Fifties model cars like the ’57 Chevy Bel Air and the ’55 Ford Fairlane Crown Victoria, especially in 1950s-era turquoise with white trim.

I love to hear the stories from my dad about the cars he loved as a teenager and young adult.  My father is generally very quiet and reserved, so pulling a story from him takes a little persuasion and patience, but it always pays off.  At 16, my father was a passenger in a car doing 110 miles an hour when it hit a telephone pole, and then another 150 feet away.  Miraculously, the driver – a friend of my dad’s –  walked away without a scratch.  

My father, however, lost his right arm in the crash.

There are several lessons I’ve learned from my dad’s accident.  One, don’t drive recklessly.   Two, if my dad can do it with one arm without complaining, then I can do it too.  Three, treat people with physical challenges the same as everyone else.  Dad was right handed and had to learn how to do everything all over, including write, with his left hand.  He was in the hospital for weeks.   

CREDIT: Autotraderclassics.com

And yet, he never lost his love for cars.  In fact, several years later he bought his beloved 1966 Corvette.  Burgundy, with the long body model of the late 60s, the ‘Vette was his pride and joy, but unfortunately, it was also unlucky.  He was hit once by a dump truck making a wide right (goodbye, drivers' side front panel); once he rear-ended my mom, who was driving right in front of him and hesitated at the yield sign (crushed his front end); and once was sideswiped on the street when he wasn’t even in the car (and there goes the back bumper).  Sadly, he had to give up his car when the insurance company threatened to drop him and went with the safer but more pedestrian Chrysler New Yorker.  At Christmas, I gave him a burgundy wireless mouse shaped like a Corvette that I found in the Skymall magazine, of all places.  He loved it. 

Now that I have a son, my father’s love of cars has been passed down through me to him.  At two and a half, he recognizes Jeeps, Hummers, and Mercedes by body style, and yes, I am fiercely proud of that.  It makes me happy to show my dad that his passions were recognized and appreciated by me, and it’s a special something that we share.  

Someday, when I’m teaching my son how to drive, I’ll pray for the patience my dad had with me as he attempted to teach me how to operate a stick shift in a 1985 Chevy Citation that bucked more than a bronco at the rodeo.   I’ll teach my son to pass on this love of cars to his children, whether they’re boys or girls.   As a woman, there is a delicious thrill to entering the typically men’s world of cars, airplanes, and sports, and showing that I can keep up too.  Gender-biased toys, by damned.  My son can play with a car or a baby doll and be well-rounded on both sides of the fence, because it’s healthy.

CREDIT: Mean-Baby.com

Last week, I had the incredible opportunity to take a dream drive in a Ferrari with Lone Star Exotic Rentals in Austin, and I had a huge smile on my face the whole time.  The customer service at Lone Star was exceptional and they treated me like a queen from the time I stepped in the door.  They  explain the risks and the paperwork simply and responsibly, and either Jacob or Justin, the owners, accompany you on the drive.  They guide you through the areas where you need to really pay attention to the speed limit, and other areas, where you can - ahem - go a little speedier.  

CREDIT: Megan Ortiz, Mean-Baby.com

I had the choice between the Lamborghini Gallardo and the Ferrari F430, and as it turned out, when I arrived another customer had already selected the Lamborghini.  It turned out in my favor, however, because the Ferrari of today is as smooth as driving a ten-speed bike.  I promise; it's that easy.  Jacob led me out of the driveway onto the access road with the Ferrari in automatic, and after testing out the max speed I was comfortable on the new tollway (somewhat higher than the posted speed limit... OK, quite a bit higher), he switched the car to manual mode.  

CREDIT: Mean-Baby.com

The Ferrari has sweet paddle shifters that are very simple to use.  To shift up, press the right.  To shift down, press the left (or brake, and the car shifts down automatically).  I was nervous about shifting before I arrived, because the last time I drove a manual transmission was on the Atlanta Motor Speedway on a Richard Petty driving experience - going 150 mph in a Winston Cup car (and that's a whole other story for another time).  My fears were unfounded, because this was easy.  In fact, I got a little competitive when a Mazda passed me in the first mile or so out, and I started laughing and got it up to speed quickly.  If you ever try it, I highly recommend the extended drive for just a little bit more money... it's worth it for a few more miles of pure exhilaration. 

Jacob told me that about fifty percent of their customers are women, but only five percent of their customers are women driving the cars (most purchase as gifts for husbands, fathers, and boyfriends).  I was surprised that more women didn’t do this kind of thing, and I was thankful for my car time with my dad.  Cars are not just for boys, and if I had a daughter instead of a son, I would have taught her the same things.  Being a “girly tomboy” means that I can have it all – femininity and sensitivity, and also the ability to talk the talk with the males in my life about things they love too.  

 

Me and my awesome dad

Stepping out of the Ferrari after my exhilarating drive, I was thinking of only one thing:  I couldn’t wait to share it with my dad.

Many thanks to Megan Ortiz of Mean-Baby.com for taking photos of my dream drive.  Check out her blog - she's great and she named her daughter Pistol, which is just cool.   And very Texas.