Old Friends

I spent last week fixing a theoretically simple problem with my car. I say simple because it was a small part, fixed to the engine by one bolt. I say theroretically because that one bolt was impossible to find, then once found, impossible to reach.

I found it, reached it, and ultimately swapped it out.

I'd have never even attempted such a fix, if it hadn't been for one guy. A guy I realize now was my mentor.

His name was Tor Kalleberg. He died in a fire a few years ago, the rotten details are omitted.

I was introduced to Tor by my parents. He needed someone to help with handyman/honeydo projects around the house, and his own kids were too young to lend a hand. I became his right-hand handyman. I even babysat his kids - Barbra, Jon, Paul, and ultimately their new baby Rebecca.

Weekend after weekend, we worked on fixing things around the house. Ultimately we ended up working on the old dead cars he had lying around in his yard.

As it turnes out, the biggest project we worked on was the 1963 Ford Falcon. We took the front end from a 62, the floor shift and transmission from a 64, grabbed a 1970 Maverick engine and dropped it all in to that Falcon. When we were halfway done, Tor announced to me that when we were *completlely* done, the Falcon was mine. And that's how it played out. My very first car was one I had built with my own hands, a 1963 Ford Falcon.

I don't remember the last time I ever saw Tor Kalleberg. I'm sure that whenever it was, neither of us realized that we'd never see each other again. Thirty years later, when I found that he had died, yes, I did cry. He was my buddy, he was my friend, and he was the first adult person who ever treated *me* as an adult person.

I spent two days last week trying to swap out some computerized sensor piece of bullshit on my car. With each click on the super-extended rachet in the impossible place on the impossible part of the car, I thought back to my friend. He was a helluva guy.

I will miss him always.