Whither Quaintness?

Quote of the day:
“No matter what side of the argument you are on, you always find people on your side that you wish were on the other.”
--Jascha Heifetz

Yesterday I was folding clothes when this tune came into my head:
“I’m a little hunk of tin
Nobody knows where I have been
Got four wheels and a running board,
I’m a Ford, a Ford, a Ford.
Honk, honk, rattle, rattle, rattle, crash, beep-beep,
Honk, honk, rattle, rattle, rattle, crash, beep-beep,
Honk, honk.”

I learned this song when I was ten years old at summer camp. It’s one of those ridiculous but fun-to-sing-in-spite-of-myself camp songs.

Until yesterday, I never thought about the words much, except to realize it was about an old car.

It occurred to me that this song was about the very popular Model T, produced by Ford between 1909 and 1927. This car is legendary for being the first produced using assembly-line technology.

In spite of its mythic status, Time magazine voted it one of the 50 worst cars of all time.

When I considered the fact that the Model T was a piece of junk, and that they were ubiquitous in America for 20 years, the song made sense.

I have never driven or ridden in a Model T, though I have seen one in a car museum and at an antique-car rally.

At what age is something or someone considered “quaint”? I admit I feel quaint even thinking about the silly song, the melody and words of which are branded on my brain.

The car was on the road more than fifty years before I sang the song at camp. I think that disqualifies me from quaintness. At least for a while.

Do they still sing this song at camp?