Sunday, October 20, 2013

Families and Their Wheels

On the back of this family photo it's written-"Sold Good Friday-1947." I have no clue who in the family owned this car. I do know it was probably considered a part of the family for more times than not, that's what our vehicles become-part of our families. Many people even have names for their cars. We certainly did!

The first vehicle I vaguely remember is my grandfather's old Ford truck. I don't remember seeing him in it. I just remember seeing it sitting here and there. My mother loved buying new cars which is surprising because she didn't get her license until later on in life. I think it must have been the experience of going into a showroom and wheeling and dealing for something shiny and untouched and smelling like only new cars do. Any car she bought had to be black because my father was a funeral director and sometimes the car was used for work. I remember when my parents and my aunt had the same model car. Both black, they were the latest model of a Ford-I think. That aunt later had a little white Chevy something that was shaped like a square. My parents once owned a black Mercury. It was kind of a big car but I drove it. We called it the Black Bird. Over the years they owned an Olds Cutlass, 98, and Toronado. I think a few were green and not black!

My brother had an awesome TR-3. He was quite the guy zooming around in it! Girls loved it! I can't remember the color but I do recall the only time I drove it. We lived in the country. I'd asked him if I could take it for a ride. I wanted to go into town-show it off with me driving it. The only problem was shifting the gears. I'd never done it. My brother gave me a quick lesson but once I got behind the wheel and I was in town with stop lights and people and yield signs I forgot everything he'd told me. I ended up swerving into someone's front yard. That's when I decided to get the hot sports car back home in one piece. He treasured that car more than he did me! His first car had been a GTO but this TR-3 was his pride and joy.

My pride and joy was a 1968 cherry red Mustang with black bucket seats and a stick shift on the floor. As soon as I graduated from college and landed a job I asked my father to go with me to the Ford dealer. It didn't matter what the salesman told me. I didn't hear any of it. I knew that brand new shiny Mustang sitting in that showroom in front of me was mine. I'd fallen in love with it. I don't know why-maybe the design or that awesome logo or the way it made me feel. I'm not much of a car person. That is the only model of car that has ever caught my eye-and it still does.

Cars we've owned turn into memories of certain times in our lives. They weave their way into our story-taking us on rides and adventures; errands and duties-zooming us along this highway called life-through all kinds of weather-in good times and in bad-and that is a pretty good deal!

1 comment:

  1. When I was little, my folks had a black '39 Plymouth roadster with just a front seat and a space behind it where I could stand and look over the seat-back. Mom called it "Jeannie," with the light-brown dashboard. ;-)

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