Dream Car in anticlimatic

I have probably the most beautiful car you’ve ever seen.

A 1971 Stingray Corvette T-top with the old school chrome trim, custom painted a sparkling combination of royal and sky blue, in pristine condition. All original, except for some direct OEM replacement parts I had to add over the years- water pump, radiator, brake calipers, alternators, cylinders, etc- but it looks and smells just like 1971.

It takes the old carburetor engine a few rotations of the crankshaft to turn over, and that old school guttural motor sound of it firing to life, and then idling heavily, never gets old to me. Like a large dog- WUF-WUF-WUF-WUF-

It can be a bit embarrassing to take out and about with the amount of attention it draws and conversations it invites with strangers, men (of course) especially. But this weekend I pulled into the Raber Bay Bar- which is in the middle of nowhere, right on the St Mary’s River that separates Michigan from Canada- and a little boy of about 10 years old greeted me immediately at my door when I climbed out.

“That’s my dream car” he said in a sweet shy but can’t help himself little boy voice.

“Really?” I said, kind of on surprised small talk auto pilot, “she’s an old one…newer cars are much faster.”

He was undeterred.

“Nah, I like the old ones. It’s SO COOL!”

“Thanks!” I said as I walked past him towards the door, not really knowing what else to say. I find it best to flee from positive interactions with people before I clam up or say something too strange or stupid for public discourse.

I enjoyed a drink and a meal- salad bar, since you asked. Finest salad bar I know of. Two soup options, plenty of other various cold salads like broccoli salad, pasta salad, potato salad (of course regular salad with all the fixings and dressings), and various cakes and pudding for dessert. All you can eat. 8 bucks. Phenomenal.

As I was leaving I got in the car and revved the engine. The kid I saw was standing next to a picnic table attached to the bar looking at me and waving with that look on his face. I killed the engine.

“Is your mom or dad around?” I yelled to him. He immediately looked to his right, and a woman stood up from a group of people at another picnic table and identified herself.

“Hey, if you’re interested, before I go, if your son wants to sit in the car for a bit and maybe get his picture taken, that’s cool with me.”

She asked him if he wanted to. He was all about it. So I got out, and his sister of course asked if she could get in the car too, and for a little while there was a parade of kids in and out of my car. I had the young man get in the drivers seat and lowered the wheel into his lap so he could really feel like the driver.

I didn’t mention it, but when I was his age I used to sit in the car just like that for hours pretending it was the DeLorean from Back To The Future.

The grandfather came over to me while all this was going on and shook my hand and thanked me and chatted. Apparently he had a 1980s model that looked a lot like mine, and old photos the boy had seen of it with his grandpa in it is what made that particular model his “dream car.”

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I need to have some kids, I think.