Breaking the news to the little guy was going to be the hardest part of sending my old Worthington tractor to its new home in Rhode Island. In preparation of the moment, I printed off some photos of the big green 1966 Chevy C50 truck that would be taking its place as the fun tinker toy at our house, but I still thought he’d be saddened by the loss of the tractor. I was right.

Using verbiage that a three-year-old wouldn’t get hung up on, I slowly explained that the tractor was headed to a new home and we’d be delivering it on Friday evening, he was free to come if he wanted. My son is a smart little guy (he takes after his mom) and about half way through my speech, he got the message. His eyebrows drooped, his eyes glassed up, and in his squeaky little voice came a very impassioned, “But why daddy?” The easy explanation was that we needed the space and the bucks for the big truck we’re going to go fetch in a couple of weeks, so that’s what I went with. He was happy when he saw the photos of the truck, but ultimately he was pretty busted up when we pulled out of the driveway where we had left the tractor. Simply put, he loved that thing. I really liked it. Is that a problem?

I’m a liker, not a lover. I have yet to have that singular automotive experience that left me saying, “I’ll never get rid of this car.” Don’t get me wrong. I’ve owned lots of stuff that I have really, really liked, I just can’t say I have really loved one car so much I’d never let it go. They are all important chapters in my personal automotive biography, but none have made a completely indelible impression on me.

To some level, I envy the guy who still has his first car from high school. There’s a connection there that I have not experienced and would certainly like to. On the other hand, keeping my automotive emotional distance from things has led me to own a bunch of varied cars, trucks, and tractors that I would never had had the chance to had I not been horse trading one for the next.

I had a real guilty streak after I told Tom that I had sold the tractor. I was instantly reminded about my dad’s 1964 GTO that he restored when I was small enough to shovel blasting sand out of the trunk (while standing in the trunk) and how he still has that car. We’ve been through a couple of race cars, but the GTO, now not cruised with the weekly frequency it once was, still remains in its spot in the garage. I’d be able to mask my emotions if dad told me he was selling the car, but my inner three year old would probably be screaming out to ask the same question, albeit in more adult terms.

My Javelin, while miles off from being completed, could be a car that I would not let go of. It represents a pretty special time and chain of events that I’ll never forget. The incoming C50 has the potential to be a keeper as well. Medium duty trucks have their own place for me, stemming from my time as a little kid riding shotgun in the old F600 that my dad and grandfather used to use for deliveries at their pallet and box business. Watching them row the gears and shift the two-speed rearend are as clear in my memory as what I had for lunch.

Maybe that’s the ticket. This truck strikes a place in my past that no other vehicle I have ever had does. As excited as I was in snatching the tractor up, being the first project I had to work on after we had settled into our house, the C50 keeps me awake at night with thoughts of driving it. Maybe this is the one that’ll stick around for the long haul.

I suppose it’s going to have to. I can’t stand the thought of two little guys looking at me with those eyes at the same time asking, “Why?”