If Dad Only Knew

 

My first memory of my dad's car was the Packard. Unfortunately I was too young to really appreciate that 1941 Packard before it got run over by a semi-truck. After that, and when it became apparent that Mom and Dad were not going to stop making babies, Dad switched to Ford station wagons. His first one was a green 1956. It had a six cylinder engine, and stick shift on the column. It wasn't even a year old, almost new. I was creeped out by that car when I found out how my dad found it. He told us that he got a great deal because the previous owner had dropped dead. After five years, the dead guy's car had worn out and one evening Dad returned from work in a big, brown 1961 Ford station wagon. Again, it had an anemic six cylinder engine with stick shift on the column. Very boring, but brand new. Four years after that my dad again came home from work in a different car than the one he had left with in the morning. This time it was a brand new 1965 Ford station wagon. Exactly like the previous one, brown with a six cylinder engine and stick shift on the column. I was fifteen years old and my dad couldn't have been any more boring. He kept that car for two years, so for six years we became known as the family with the shit brown Fords. And then in 1967 a big surprise. Late one evening Dad came home from work in, yes, another brand new Ford station wagon. But this one was not boring. It was beautiful blue, had an automatic transmission, and had a badge on the front fender with the numbers 390 on it. That was a V8 engine! Not a wimpy 289, but a big powerful engine. Just in time for me to enjoy with my newly acquired drivers license. Seriously, if my dad knew what went on every time he let me borrow his new car, he would have had a conniption fit. All I will admit to here is that it was capable of going well over 120mph. I'm not exactly sure how fast I was going because once the speedometer got past that 120, it just kept moving until it could move no more.

The Packard crushed by a semi-truck