We always talk about the towns, or the houses, or the schools we grew up in.
What about the cars?
My father had an Auto Body Shop.
Now . . .srangely enough . . . you'd think we'd grow up with the nicest car in the neighborhood. . .right?. . .no.
We went thru a myriad of crashy cars that where always on the brink of being turned into classics, you just had to "wait and see". So we rode in them, hoping nobody from school saw us, until the next work of art prospect appeared on the yard.
Then one day my mom had it, and made it known loud enough for the.whole neighborhood to hear, that she was done riding in garbagee cars.
I remember when my my Dad drove up in the Gran Torino Station Wagon. It was awesome! The back door was super long and super heavy, and the space inside, gigantic.
My brother, sister, and I would go in there and I swear we could run around, without even bumping into each other.
The seats, the back seats, they folded forward! I thought that's how space crafts must be.
It was red.
Plingsby 