Gas

My dad was the sort of guy who would drive miles on a nearly empty gas tank in order to find a station where he could pay a penny or two less for gas. Out on the highway, back in the 50's and 60's, this could mean driving quite a few miles.

"Just stop and get gas!" my mother would say. "For heaven's sake, it's only two cents more."

"Two cents for every gallon," my father would amend.

I remember one time when the car actually did run out of gas. It was also one of the very few times I saw my mother get angry. It was summer. It was hot. We sat in the car with all the windows down, watching my father trudge away down the highway, silver gas can glinting in the sun.

Strangely, when I was old enough to drive, my father changed his tune.

"If I've told you once, I've told you a thousand times," he said. "Don't drive the damn car around on an empty tank. It's not good for the engine!"

Good 'ol Dad.