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The story of my dads Texas Ranger

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Ive been wanting to tell this story for a while but I ive been hesitant to clutter up the threads too much with my random reminiscing.
My pops, born in 1939, raised me with a healthy love and respect for vintage cars, vintage bikes and vintage people. He started an automotive repair shop in the 1970's that operated in the lot next door to my house and was connected by a walkway, so i spent my entire life in the shop and even worked there for a spell in the early 90's. My dad was a former drag racer and general all around hotrodder and regularly raced people with me in the passenger seat and taught me as a child to wave bye to them before his 4 barrel carbs and big block would "smoke em". My pops was raised by a hard nosed farmer who didn't believe in gifts, pets or happiness and generally made my dads childhood hell and even gave him coal for Christmas at times (not a joke) and kept him in the cotton fields during his free time. Needless to say my dad was gruff, greasy and matter-of-fact individual but I think because of his childhood, he was more than kind to me and always made sure I was hugged, loved and taken care of. Everything he never had.....
I took to the oldschool upbringing with both feet and I would regularly go around on trash day as a grade school kid and bring home vintage toys and all manner of treasures and have him shake his head and smile at the "junk" I would bring home. You could say Ive been a junk picker since birth and I cant remember a time in my life where I wasnt digging thru barns or trash piles and even pulled a pedal car out of the city bayou once! One day I stumbled upon an old rusted, forgotten Texas Ranger bicycle laying next to a dumpster in the neighborhood and I lit up! I drug it home as quick as I could after asking the home owner if i could have it and presented it to my dad with a huge smile on my face! I talked dad into restoring for me to ride eventually, so we broke it down, removed all the rust, smoothed out the frame and painted it all up nice. We hit swap meets for parts every weekend, I even let him custom mix a color he liked, put parts on it that he liked and get it all fancied up exactly how he thought I wanted it. We finally finished the bike around fathers day and he couldnt be prouder of the way it turned out......and I waited until he was done talking and I turned around and presented it back to him for fathers day. I tell you what, he was literally speechless...."but we built this for you!" he said. I said "I had you build this bike the way you thought it should be built, you picked and custom mixed your favorite color, you painted it yourself, you put on your favorite bars and seat and even put whitewalls on it like you like" I swear that was one of the first times I saw my dad nearly shed a tear....
My dad would never do anything for himself and nearly lived to make sure we had a good life and I knew he would never build that bike if he knew it was for him....but, he thought it was for me so he gave it his best effort.

My pops rode the wheels off that bike and him owning it even turned into a weekly neighborhood ride that him and all his friends, including my mom would go on. My dad passed in 2012 and there isnt a day that goes by I dont miss him....but one thing is certain, I still have that old Texas Ranger that we restored together and come hell or high water that is the one that will die with me.

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What a great story about learning about life from someone who had it hard and didn't pass that on to you. I wish I could have the same story to share about my Dad.
 
Great story! When I showed my father my Red Phantom, he said he had a bike like that when he was a kid that he bought with his paper route money. I would have never known that I was a 2nd generation Phantom owner.
My dad always wanted one and would look at them and say “man thats nice”.....but it just never happened. Now i own 3 so maybe i over-corrected a “tad”...haha. ....but now i made his dream come true by making it my dream too.
 
I know my dad's dad was violent bastard who tried to light them on fire while they slept & all 7 of them had to jump on him as kids to keep him off my grandma when he went after her with an axe. I never knew him & because my grandma would never deny or tell me anything I assume what my dad & uncles have said was true. My dad raised me by himself for at least the 1st year of my life because both my parents were young. My mom's mom wasn't any better from the stories of her & my 2 uncles have told. It takes a Real Man to break the cycle, anybody can make a baby but to Actually Raise a Respectable Man or Woman isn't always easy. Those who do the best they can no matter what are usually the unsung hard working heroes. Sadly we lose them & have to step up so their legends & memories aren't forgotten. In doing so we are extensions of them & in a way continue them to make our very own
 
Ive been wanting to tell this story for a while but I ive been hesitant to clutter up the threads too much with my random reminiscing.
My pops, born in 1939, raised me with a healthy love and respect for vintage cars, vintage bikes and vintage people. He started an automotive repair shop in the 1970's that operated in the lot next door to my house and was connected by a walkway, so i spent my entire life in the shop and even worked there for a spell in the early 90's. My dad was a former drag racer and general all around hotrodder and regularly raced people with me in the passenger seat and taught me as a child to wave bye to them before his 4 barrel carbs and big block would "smoke em". My pops was raised by a hard nosed farmer who didn't believe in gifts, pets or happiness and generally made my dads childhood hell and even gave him coal for Christmas at times (not a joke) and kept him in the cotton fields during his free time. Needless to say my dad was gruff, greasy and matter-of-fact individual but I think because of his childhood, he was more than kind to me and always made sure I was hugged, loved and taken care of. Everything he never had.....
I took to the oldschool upbringing with both feet and I would regularly go around on trash day as a grade school kid and bring home vintage toys and all manner of treasures and have him shake his head and smile at the "junk" I would bring home. You could say Ive been a junk picker since birth and I cant remember a time in my life where I wasnt digging thru barns or trash piles and even pulled a pedal car out of the city bayou once! One day I stumbled upon an old rusted, forgotten Texas Ranger bicycle laying next to a dumpster in the neighborhood and I lit up! I drug it home as quick as I could after asking the home owner if i could have it and presented it to my dad with a huge smile on my face! I talked dad into restoring for me to ride eventually, so we broke it down, removed all the rust, smoothed out the frame and painted it all up nice. We hit swap meets for parts every weekend, I even let him custom mix a color he liked, put parts on it that he liked and get it all fancied up exactly how he thought I wanted it. We finally finished the bike around fathers day and he couldnt be prouder of the way it turned out......and I waited until he was done talking and I turned around and presented it back to him for fathers day. I tell you what, he was literally speechless...."but we built this for you!" he said. I said "I had you build this bike the way you thought it should be built, you picked and custom mixed your favorite color, you painted it yourself, you put on your favorite bars and seat and even put whitewalls on it like you like" I swear that was one of the first times I saw my dad nearly shed a tear....
My dad would never do anything for himself and nearly lived to make sure we had a good life and I knew he would never build that bike if he knew it was for him....but, he thought it was for me so he gave it his best effort.

My pops rode the wheels off that bike and him owning it even turned into a weekly neighborhood ride that him and all his friends, including my mom would go on. My dad passed in 2012 and there isnt a day that goes by I dont miss him....but one thing is certain, I still have that old Texas Ranger that we restored together and come hell or high water that is the one that will die with me.

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Yeah, Great story, thanks. My Dad died in June this year at 93. It was ( would have been) his birthday yesterday on the 31st. He would have been 94. I have many fond memories of Dad, but one bicycle related story was when I was about 5 or 6 and had a bicycle upside down for one reason or another and he firmly told me NOT to put my fingers near the spokes when the wheel was spinning, so guess who lost part of a nail and bloodied a finger that day? Yup, lesson learned. Many more to follow. Ha!
 
You know, Dad’s don’t get enough credit for what they do. Society shows Dad’s on TV and movies as bumbling idiots.
My Dad was born in 1925, raised with his brothers in an orphanage due to the untimely death of his Dad when he was 7 years old because his mom was afflicted with arthritis so bad. A few years before WWII he got out of the orphanage and worked until he enlisted and served in the Navy most of the war.
long story short, he too was really into old cars, trucks and construction. He taught how to frame a house, rebuild a motor and restore a car or truck. He worked as a civilian disbursing officer for the Navy. He showed us kids love and attention and strength of family. And taught me skills that I use in my business today. Dad passed in 2018 at 93 years of age. Just old age. He just went to sleep. I gave his tools and I go out some days and just pick up some of the wrenches and hold them knowing that at one time he and I were using the tools to work on a car or bike. Great memories. Glad you had a great Dad also.
 
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