When I was around 10, my cousin Jorge and I were in the alley trying to cobble together some sort of go-kart with a shopping cart, some wood and an old rope. We were trying to cut the tires off of the cart, with some tools we had no business using. When my apá found us, he laughed. Not in the “laughing at us” sort of way but more in the sort of way that he was impressed that we were even trying. I heard that happy laugh that came with his smile throughout the years as I got older. It was always encouraging. To me it meant that he was happy and proud.
He let us 10 year old mocosos handle these dangerous tools as we tried to hacksaw the tires off for far longer than was safe. He watched, offering pointers. Finally, after losing the long battle with the shopping cart, he asked us if we needed some help. We gladly accepted. My apá had pieced together entire bikes out of random parts for years and was very handy when it came to building all sorts of things, especially with wood. He was a crafty and artsy guy.
We described what we were trying to build and showed him a book we had found in the Anaheim Public Library called “The Buffy-Porson - a car you can build and drive”. This machine wasn’t something that could be built with a rope and shopping cart wheels. Once he saw the plan, he may have been more excited than my cousin Jorge and I were to get started. Over the next few weeks, after work, on the weekends, whenever he had any free time, we would all get together and build this Cadillac of soapbox racers. We went on so many trips to hardware stores and lumber yards. We were trying to find just the right parts and picking out the best wood planks to use. The book was all in English, so part of my job was to translate. The other parts of Jorge and my duties were learning how to measure and mark the wood correctly in order to make the correct cuts. He let us do it, but always double checked our work. He was a perfectionist. On occasion he let us cut some tricky angles with the skilsaw. It was probably not the safest tool for 10-year-olds, but it was so gratifying. My apá would laugh and smile when we did a good job.
A few weeks later we were ready to paint! He had a 1967 Chevy Malibu SS and we decided to deviate from the plans in the book and make this soapbox racing machine look as much like the Malibu as we could. We found some blue paint that matched the Malibu and added extra touches of chrome here and there including a Malibu emblem in the back.
Jorge and I had our own mini-Malibu and it was ready to ride! Next, we needed to find some hills since it was a downhill racer. Apá loaded up the baby Malibu into the large trunk of the bigger Malibu. We had to take the wheels off and tie the trunk down. Who hasn’t seen a muscle car with a mini version of itself sticking out of the trunk? We went to a regional park with plenty of hills and roads to put the baby Malibu to the test. We raced this beautiful machine up and down the park’s hills, nonstop. Apá laughed and smiled for hours, as he watched Jorge and I almost wreck the baby Malibu several times. It didn’t matter, we were all so happy.
We crashed, repaired and finally outgrew the baby Malibu over the years, but we always kept it close. My junior year in college, I refurbished it as a hot-rod coffee table for our apartment. I painted it black with flames shooting out from the front. My apá laughed and smiled again, we were both happy it was coming out of storage. Little did this car know what it would have to endure in an apartment full of college guys.
About four years ago, as life has a way of getting more complicated and stressful, my apá and I decided to really rebuild this Buffy-Porson to spec. He knew it would be good for me, that I needed it. He had fully recovered from having a benign brain tumor removed a couple of years earlier, so maybe he needed it too.
The beat up, beer-soaked frame of the once magnificent soapbox racer was rotting in the back shed. It was time to make it shine again.
The first step was to find a copy of the book “Buffy-Porson a car you can build and drive”. I never returned the original copy back to the Anaheim Public Library (sorry) so I knew it wasn’t there. Luckily the internet provides, and I found another copy online. With a copy of the book in hand, I would fly down from San Francisco a few weekends throughout that summer. It was like I was 10 years old again hanging out with my apá going to hardware stores and finding just the perfect pieces. To do this with my apá once, as a 10 year old mocoso, was such a gift. To be able to spend this type of time with my apá again, as a 40 year old mocoso, was truly priceless. We were like kids in a candy store all over again.
We rebuilt that soapbox racer exactly as it was depicted in the book. It was almost perfect. The missing detail was the number 2 that went on the side of the car. I cut out the vinyl decals and Rebecca and I flew down from SF for my niece’s birthday in the park. Apá loaded The Buffy-Porson up in the back of his truck and took it to the park. My apá, brothers and I all helped put the finishing touches on the Buffy-Porson.
My niece, Iris and nephew, Jordan drove the soapbox racer like champs! Apá laughed and smiled non-stop as his grandkids drove it up and down the park again. He was happy and proud. I’ll always remember him as a happy and proud father with that beautiful laugh and smile. He showed me how to use a skilsaw, but by being my apá, what he really showed me was how to be towards others, how to be like him.
I love and miss you apá.
Horacio Perez