When I was five (1953), my next younger brother and I decided to help my dad out by washing his new to him car. In those days, the pump jockies used something much like an oil can to wash your windshield. We found a similar can in the garage and washed Dad's car with it, only his help 30 weight motor oil.

We were so proud of the shiny results that we then did the interior.

Dad was so angry that he did not touch us. He just sent us to bed, telling Mom that if he touched us, he would have killed us.

At this point in their lives, my folks were barely scrapping by and the '48 Pontiac was all that they (barely) afford.