Yesterday we had some work done on my car at the body shop. I mentioned the other day about the motor on the driver’s seat squeaking. The body shop people took the seat out, greased up the motor mechanism but it’s still squeaking. But, that’s ok . . they are so nice and didn’t even charge us. They’re also the folks who fixed my car when we hit the deer last time.
Vince dropped me off and I left in my car and he went his own way to do some shopping. Just as I was driving off, I noticed a 1967 Ford Mustang sitting at the body shop. It looked perfect.
What I wouldn’t give for a car like that. My very first car was a 1967 Ford Mustang fastback, but it was white.
In Louisiana, back then, we could get our driver’s license when we turned 15 so, on my 15th birthday, my dad took off work, we went and got my driver’s license and went and bought this car. According to my dad, it was my car but I think he had always wanted a Mustang and he enjoyed having it too. The only problem with my new car — it was a 5 speed and I had no idea how to drive a manual transmission. It was during the summer and every afternoon, dad would take me out driving. It seemed like forever before he turned me loose with the car but it was my car through high school and college and I loved it.
I wish I had kept it . . hindsight! Who knew it would become a collector’s car and who knew how quickly I’d be old and wish for something like that . . a piece of my youth. Every time I hear Alan Jackson’s song, “Drive”, it makes me think of that Mustang . . with my dad patiently teaching me to drive the standard transmission . . “A piece of my childhood that will never be forgotten.”
I love it when, out of the blue, a good memory rises to the surface. That Mustang was nothing but good memories and seeing that one yesterday definitely brought a smile to my face.