My first car war a 1964 Ford Falcon convertible. It cost me $200 because the son of a friend needed the money for college tuition. I had never before sat behind the wheel of a car, so I had to ask my dad to go pick it up for me and store it in his garage. After much persuasion, father dear convinced me to take drivers lessons, something that I failed successively.
I did however, learn to drive and without persuasion, I drove across Canada, without a permit or insurance. That drive was a very stressful one, no doubt about it. Two hours out of Calgary, the engine was out of oil. In the end it cost more in oil to cross the country than in gas.
I owned the car for five years before selling it to an antique dealer who put the car on a pedestal. Now, twenty-five years later, I still see that old car, in parades, with it's white top rolled back and its coral red body glistening, its chrome bumpers and hardware flashing like mirrors in the sun. Now many can enjoy that beautiful automobile that was my first love and my first heartache.