'68 Firebird

“Look at his drawing, Mom. Isn’t it good? He loves old cars.”

The car drawn in pencil came to life on the paper. Perfect shading defined where the hood of the car met the fender. Each headlight popped out in front of the car, encased by the trademark grill design made famous by Pontiac. The grill that I waited to see coming around the corner of my parents’ driveway on a Saturday night.

Yes, the drawing was good. It was very good.

“Go show your dad,” I told Mickey.

She grabbed his arm and pulled him over to the display that hung on the wall in back of the high school gym.

“Look at this one, Dad,” she said.

He looked, and with a gleam in his eye replied, “I used to have a car just like that. It’s a ’68 Firebird. Mine was green.”

He went on with more details.

“Yeah, I put a 428 in it.”

I remembered that it went pretty fast.

“And a 3 deuce carb.”

I remembered that it was really loud.

“Had a 3-speed on the floor.”

I remembered him shifting the car effortlessly as we cruised down the highway, while the two of us smiled and laughed.

“I put on quite a few miles with that car,” he finished.

I remembered all the fun times. And shenanigans. And things I probably don’t want to tell Mickey just yet.

Her friend’s drawing took her parents back in time. To a time that doesn’t seem so long ago. A time separated only by the years of raising children, working hard and surviving what life has thrown our way.

The drawing was good. In more ways than one.

Someday I’ll tell Mickey the rest of the story.