“It wasn't the fastest or the fanciest. But every mile in that car felt like home.”
Sold to a neighbor's kid down the street. I hope it gave him as many good memories as it gave us. Some cars just have that energy — they take care of whoever's behind the wheel.
The car that started it all. Dad drove this to every little league game, every school play, every family road trip. The AC never worked right but we never cared — windows down, radio up.
Dad picked it up from the dealership on a Tuesday. We all piled in for the first drive around the block.
The whole family drove 600 miles to visit grandma. AC broke halfway. We sang songs the whole way.
Dad let me take the wheel in an empty parking lot. I stalled it four times. He never lost patience.
Sold to a neighbor's kid who needed a first car. We watched it drive away from the driveway.
How much this car is still felt, even after it’s gone.
Other cars from the same era or owner
Dad's retirement gift to himself. Cobalt blue, chrome tank badges, and a soul that belongs to a different era. He rides it every Sunday morning — same route, same café, same table. Some rituals are sacred.
Mom's trusty Camry. She drove this to work every single day for five years. We called it 'The Silver Bullet'. It survived two fender benders and one very unfortunate parking garage incident.
My first car. Saved up for two years working weekends. The day I drove it off the lot I cried — actual tears. Candy apple red, 5.0 V8, and absolutely zero practicality. Perfect.