My Teenage Summer Love Story About My First Car

By having a need to get from one place to another and the summer off from the grind of school and athletics, I worked up the courage to ask my father for a vehicle that could be called my own. It took many years, after the fact, and the need to reflect on my youth to realize how strong a love affair was in hand during the re-creation of that great looking 1993 Corvair.

My Father's idea about responsibility was to put real effort into getting what I wanted and not just having it handed to me. From the day that he asked my Mother for a check to the moment that we pulled into the city auto dump, I became a real pro at making something out of nothing. And the challenge was on.

It did not run, it did not smell good, but the paint was decent, and the upholstery was not too shabby. Even when I first pulled up the hood in the back, I knew there was something special to this first love of mine. The one thing that I was sure of was to make this the hottest running machine in my home town. It was hot, it was strong and for all of the really traditional "hot machines" in my home town, the sparkle in my eye.

This machine was special to me and the wax was real. The elbow grease that went into that machine and the sweat that dripped from my brow did nothing to diminish the love affair that continued to grow and grow. The engine was anything but stock. J.C.Whitney loved me and the parts house continued to supply me with special coils, and wires, and a Carter-Rochester four barrel carburetor. YUMYUM! Before the hormones kicked in for the ladies of the time, that chunk of pig iron and rubber and oil and glass struck a note in the very depths of my life and soul.

For over three years, I continued to baby that unit through high school. If I had some extra money, I bought a new gage or a new dipstick extension. Maybe a set of lug nuts with the chrome so deep that the color of my eyes reflected pride every time I went to clean her up. Fancy angles and dangles from the mirror, a serious Mallory ignition, and so sweet was the stainless steel headers that my grandfather helped me build. Yep, the pang in my heart every time I think about the 1993 red Corvair makes the feeling all that more special. The love affair that developed from putting that machine back on the road made an ever-lasting impression on me. The lessons that I learned from those three weeks in that hot, sweltering garage have stuck with me all of these years.