As an adult I look back on my teen years with amusement. I was not one of those girls who followed boys around all droopy eyed and hopelessly in love. No, I was droopy eyed and in love with my 1957 Pontiac.
My dad was a successful auto mechanic who rebuilt the engine in my Pontiac. Fast cars ! That was my Pontiac. I loved the roar of the motor and the feel of the road beneath my seat. Creatively, I hid grocery items so that my mom would send me to the store. I hauled anyone and anybody just so that I could drive my car. It was so much more than that… It was a connection that I had with my father, washing car parts in the garage, trotting with him through old junk yards looking for treasures. What more could a girl ask for?