I used to drive a Ford Falcon, I cannot remember the year but suffice it to say it was not current even at the time I drove it from 1972 to 1975. My father, a mechanic by nature and trade, kept it in good repair.
Once, my car was running a little ragged and I told my father that I thought it needed a tune up. My father, as usual, said he would take care of it. Since I rarely drove my car it was not important that he get on it immediately. One day when I came home from school my father was home from work and told me to go look under the hood of my car, so I did. I nearly stroked when I lifted the hood and all I saw was the cement of the driveway below. Where in the heck was my engine? Daaaaaaaddddd! Laughing, he told me he decided to rebuild my engine while he was at it. I have to admit it made me nervous to start with but frequently when I would come home from school a little more of my engine had returned.
Eventually one day my father said he was done and had me take the car on a test drive, it drove better than it ever had. I loved how well it drove! Once I returned home from my test drive and began thanking and complimenting my father until he showed my all of the "left over" parts. There was a pile of nuts, bolts and parts that "weren't necessary" according to him and it was quite a pile. I was rather concerned but I trusted my dad and that car drove perfectly with no problems, it was later sold because I would not need it at college since I would be living on campus.
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