Oh, the nostalgia of it all. It was August of 1968, I had a job that paid a take home pay of $404.04 a month and I was a rich young lad. Guys starting out shouldn't go into debt for an 'off the floor show room' vehicle but I did. And it only cost $2600. My 1968, 300 HP, 4-speed on the floor "Baby cakes". I washed under the hood every other day. I buffed and cleaned, waxed and fondled. When we were by ourselves I called her "Sweetheart" and put only the finest oil in her.
Then along came Lizzie. I let her drive it once. She could almost see above the steering wheel. Her toes barely reached the gas peddle. I feared for Lizzie's life as she hit the accelerator and her tiny neck and head snapped back at Mach speed. What the hell, I honestly feared for my 'Sweetheart", too. Engagement and marriage were pending. I had to find a new home for the first love of my life. With tears in my eyes I turned the keys over to a kid, a kid who I knew wouldn't appreciate the kind of love required to handle this road monster.
In it's place and in order to make my bride happy my future in-laws sold me one of their cars; a 1965 Ford Falcon station wagon. That was the beginning of my slide into the world of husbandry and fatherhood. Young men, cherish life and love your first car. They come around only once. Actually, the Falcon wasn't quite so bad. Our next car was a Datsun. Laugh at this and I'll find you and I will kill you.
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