January 1973.
That’s me sitting on the hood of my pop’s ’72 Dodge Dart, with my pop beside me.
I loved that car. So did he. He used to remark how well it handled with the power steering. “See? I can drive it with my finger,” he would boast, placing a fingertip on top of the wheel and swaying it back and forth. I remember the smell of the black vinyl bench seats in the summertime and how the foam dashboard would slightly indent when I pushed my finger into it. He used to put me on his lap and let me shift the shifting lever through the gears when the car was parked, and I would pay close attention to the small display on the steering column, mouthing the letters:
P. R. N. D. 2. 1.
I used to lose myself in the simulated wood grain of the control panel and run my fingers over the chrome bezels, pulling the chrome knobs and delighting in the simplest mechanics of them locking in place with a click.
I guess that began my romance with classic American automobiles. Well, way back then. When I grew up I forgot about all that, until probably 2-3 years ago when out of nowhere, I began liking them again. Then I met Mark, who’s a total classic car connoisseur, and my appreciation for them spun wildly out of control. Well, not really, but I thought that sounded cool. Either way, I take pictures of cool cars I see on the road whenever I can. Lately it’s been kinda sparse, so I dug into the archives to see when we used to own one of our own. Enjoy.
Tags: Flashbacks
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