I stared blankly at the old engine manual lying open on my university dorm room desk, the familiar diagrams and technical jargon transporting me back to a summer afternoon spent with my dad in our garage. My mind began to wander, and before I knew it, I was reliving the memories.

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Flashback: High School Days

"Dad, I think I've found the problem," I said, my eyes scanning the engine manual. My dad, covered in grease and grime, looked up from the engine block, a hint of a smile on his face.

"Okay, kiddo, what's the diagnosis?" he asked, wiping his hands on a rag.

"I've been researching online, and I think it's the cylinder head. We need to replace it," I explained, trying to sound confident.

My dad chuckled. "Well, well, well. Looks like we've got a regular engine whisperer on our hands!" He ruffled my hair, and I rolled my eyes good-naturedly.

As we worked, my mom watched over us from the kitchen window, a warm smile on her face. I could sense her pride, even from a distance.

The hours ticked by, and our attempts to replace the engine were met with failure. The truck's engine sputtered and died multiple times, leaving us frustrated but determined. My dad would often crack jokes to lighten the mood.

"Well, Max, it looks like we're having a 'gas' trying to fix this thing!" He chuckled at his own joke, and I groaned.

"Dad, that was a terrible pun," I said, laughing.

"Hey, someone's got to keep things 'fuel'-ed around here!" He winked at me, and I shook my head.

Despite the setbacks, I was determined to get it right. I spent every spare moment researching, pouring over engine manuals, and watching YouTube tutorials. My dad would often tease me about being a "gearhead," but I knew he was proud of my passion.

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Just when we were about to give up, my dad suggested calling Jack, a NASCAR mechanic and family friend. Jack arrived, his weathered face creasing into a smile as he surveyed the garage.

"Looks like you boys have been having some fun," Jack said, chuckling.

"Yeah, we've been trying to get this engine running for hours," my dad said, wiping the sweat from his brow.

Jack nodded sympathetically. "I remember when your dad and I fixed a tractor engine back in Texas. That was a real challenge."

I perked up, interested. "What happened, Jack?"

Jack leaned against the workbench, a faraway look in his eyes. "Well, it was a hot summer day, and we were trying to get this old tractor running. Your dad and I worked on it for hours, but we just couldn't seem to get it right. Finally, we took a break and had some lunch. And that's when it hit us – we had forgotten to replace the spark plugs!"

My dad chuckled. "Yeah, we felt pretty silly after that."

Jack grinned. "But we got it running eventually. And that's the thing about engines, Max – sometimes it takes a little perseverance and creativity to get them running smoothly."

With Jack's guidance, we finally identified the problem: a faulty piston ring. I felt a surge of excitement as Jack explained the intricacies of engine design and the importance of precision.

As the sun dipped below the horizon, the truck's engine roared to life, its exhaust rumbling smoothly. I beamed with pride, my dad ruffling my hair.

"Thanks, Jack. We couldn't have done it without you," my dad said, shaking Jack's hand.

As we packed up our tools, my dad turned to me with a serious expression. "You know, Max, I'm proud of you. You've got a real knack for this stuff. Don't ever lose that curiosity, that passion."

I smiled, feeling a sense of pride and accomplishment. Little did I know that this moment would stay with me forever, a reminder of the bond I shared with my dad.

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Back to the Present

As I sat in my dorm room, surrounded by the quiet of the night, I felt the memories wash over me like a wave. I missed my dad, who had passed away a year ago. The pain still felt fresh, like an open wound.

I stared blankly at the engine manual, the diagrams and technical jargon blurring together. Tears began to well up in my eyes, and before I knew it, I was sobbing uncontrollably.

The memories of that summer afternoon, of working alongside my dad and Jack, flooded back. I felt the weight of my grief, the ache of missing my father's guidance and presence.

As I cried, the engine manual slipped from my grasp, its pages fluttering to the floor. I didn't notice. Oh dad I miss you!.