Childhood Car Memories

Car Lust is about our emotional connection to the automobiles in our lives. Over the course of our writings, we've shared a few misty memories of the cars we saw and rode in when we were small (for example, here, here, here, and here).

Now it's your turn.

What are your earliest automotive memories? Hit the "comments" button and let us know.

--Cookie the Dog's Owner

Comments

[Charles on November 28, 2008 at 08:34 AM]

A 55 Chevy Bel Air two door, turquoise and white. There are photos of me standing beside an earlier model of Chevy, holding a string of fish, but I don't remember that car.

[Mikey on November 28, 2008 at 10:06 AM]

Mom's '73 bug was awesome - riding in 'the well' was uber-cool.

I loved the look of the Gremlin we had too, but the name was all too appropriate. Stupid thing hated starting in the morning, causing my Dad to give up on it inside 18 months. The replacement Plymouth Volare served him well for 8 years, but it was a huge step down in wow-factor for my young self.

[That Car Guy on November 28, 2008 at 10:37 AM]

We had a mid-50s Plymouth 4-door, dark gray or black. I remember sitting on the back seat and my feet would not come to the end of the seat. They said the interior was made of mohair, but to this day, I haven't been able to find out what a mo is.

[Anthony Cagle on November 28, 2008 at 10:46 AM]

Personally, I remember most the car we had the least. It was (I think) a 1968 Buick Wildcat. My parents were GM-only (see http://www.acagle.net/ArchaeoBlog/?p=2522 for example). It was the first one I remember them actually shopping for, and we almost got a Dodge Coronet (my dad liked Dodge's too).

Mostly what I remember it for is the long summer roadtrips to Alabama for vacation. My dad is from rural Alabama, so we would drive down there for a couple of weeks and visit his family and old stomping grounds. Usually I'd sit in the front seat with my brother and sister in the back. A lot of my 1070s musical memories come from listening to the radio on those long stretches of interstate.

I remember begging our parents to stop at those cool over-the-highway "Oasis" restaurants and then finally stopping at one and being singularly unimpressed. "Stuckey's" signs the whole way. The big canyon-like roadcuts in Kentucky neat for a flatlander Wisconsinite). Those utterly boring straight stretches of Indiana. Having fun seeing how quickly we could whip through the automatic toll collection booths. Watching dad try to navigate a nervous mom through Chicago freeways. Waking up in the middle of the night so we could start out at 3 or 4 am and get to Empire, AL at 6 pm that night, dragging ourselves out of the car, hot and tired, and reveling as young kids do in the deep woods and other adventures you can find down there. And, of course, the black vinyl seats that got way too hot in Alabama in the summer.

Still my idea of a road trip: Big car, in the summer, with someone else driving.

[Anthony Cagle on November 28, 2008 at 10:48 AM]

Damn, sorry about the typos. That should be "1970s music". Among others. I knew the Preview button was there for a reason. . . .

[Mike Z. on November 28, 2008 at 05:05 PM]

First clear car memory - riding in my Uncle Jon's '66? baby-blue Mustang convertible, along with my mother and Aunt Lisa. I was 3 or 4, which would have made it about 1970-71. I don't know why that moment has stayed with me. It was a nice car, but he didn't have it very long. He replaced it about a year later with a Corvair. Oops. Replaced that with a Vega. Jon would let me shift it while he drove and worked the clutch. Which probably wasn't the brightest idea he ever had, but I never messed up. Not that it would have made much difference with that rolling piece of epic fail.

My other really early car memory is watching my dad work the column shifter in our '66 Rambler station wagon. We moved to Dallas in that Rambler when I was 5, towing everything we owned in a little U-Haul trailer. The second day in the city we were hit while making a left turn by a '67 light green Mustang, and the Rambler bit the dust. I was sad.

[Tristan on November 28, 2008 at 06:15 PM]

Dad's 74 green Dodge Dart. He finally relinquished it in 1981, after I could see the road through the floor that was rusting away. That was a car of old - vinyl seats, hand cranked windows, slide radio.

[Bill T. on November 28, 2008 at 07:21 PM]

My dad drove station wagons for several years - got a new one every two years. With four kids growing up, the space was welcome. The worst, by far, was a '57 Mercury. It was a sharp looker, a 4-door hardtop with four headlights (Quadra-beams in the brochure), but ran terribly. The next was a '59 Chev. (much better), then a '62 Plymouth folowed by a '63 Plymouth. We put a lot of miles on those wagons, and with the exception of the Merc., they all ran well.

[Barbara on November 28, 2008 at 08:15 PM]

studebaker
rambler
55 red chevrolet

[Slick on November 28, 2008 at 08:19 PM]

I remember mum and dad going to test drive the neighbours 1993 holden Apollo sedan (yes the one that is reviled for being the most boring car in history) we only sold it about 2 years ago, to be replaced by a car that I loathe, a new Subaru liberty. (less power, less space, worse fuel economy, interior gives me a headache).

reading that i feel all nostalgic and stuff, bloody oath I'm only 18.

[David on November 28, 2008 at 10:37 PM]

I will always remember the trips that my family took to our summer vacation spot on Mountain View Lake ( also know as Little Lake Sunapee) in New Hampshire. My parents would load my family ( 8 siblings...that eventually grew to 10)into our 1963 Chevrolet Belair Station Wagon. It was a sharp mobile with an Autumn Gold exterior and a Fawn colored interior. The trip took us almost the whole day as we crawled along Route 10 loaded down with the weight of all of us, as well as a fully packed roof rack. I am still amazed that that roof rack held the vacation clothes of all 12 of us. Those were great days...

[Rob on November 29, 2008 at 05:25 AM]

My older brother had just gotten out of the Marines and came home to buy a white on red 58' Vette. This was around 1963 when I was three years old. It is my earliest car memory and I still remember
being fascinated by the wraparound dash and big steering wheel. Another of those earliest memories
was a few years later during a summer vacation on Nantucket. My dads friend had a WWII era Willys
open jeep and we spent a lot of time that summer driving around the beaches.

[Darrencardinal on November 29, 2008 at 06:36 AM]

When I was a kid my mom had a 1975 Pontiac Catalina, it seemed like a really cool car at the time. Fire engine red it was, a real American barge. I still can remember the pattern on the upholstery.

We also had one of those Opel Kadett wagons they sold back in the 70's at Buick dealers. It was extremely cool and sporty, but we lost it in an accident.
We also had a ride that we called the "orange Bomb." It was an either an old Chevelle or something like that, it was sitting in our neighbors driveway. It had no engine and was sitting on four flat tires and a wrecked interior. At the time dad had a garage with an old engine sitting around, had the mechanic put the engine in, bought new tires and a new headliner and seatcovers and voila, had a serviceable car for next to nothing. We called it the orange bomb because it was painted bright pumpkin orange. It was quite a site I tell ya what.

[glen kepic on November 29, 2008 at 10:03 AM]

Driving to LA from the SF bay area in our white '56 Chevy (4 dr, 265 V-8). I was about 4 years old (I'm 51 now).I always loved that car but it overheated in the late '60's and was never the same. Got traded for a '63 Nova.

[Shawn on November 29, 2008 at 10:42 AM]

My parents first car I remember was their nasty 1983 Buick Century, in two-tone grey, that I mentioned in the similar Olds Ciera thread recently.

At the time my dad also had a 1983 Toyota pickup in then-fashionable burnt orange with wide brown graphic stripes down the side. Also notable for the rare (and proudly proclaimed on the tailgate with yet another graphic): AUTOMATIC WITH OVERDRIVE option.

[leigh on November 29, 2008 at 04:43 PM]

well, being born in the 1990s, my childhood memories were in the chevy suburban (80's dont know the exact year) and the '94 dodge intrepid.

I am driving the intrepid right now, 3.3l :). I like it

[Chris Hafner on November 29, 2008 at 05:35 PM]

I very vaguely remember a 1960s Plymouth that was in our family for a long time and was probably my earliest car lust. I don't recall the exact year or model, and neither do my parents. It was a familiar presence in our garage when I was really little - but then my parents sold it because it was just too unreliable. I still remember being pretty livid that my parents sold it - even though I was probably all of 6-8 at the time.

The first car that played a major role in my life was our 1976 Chevy Nova - it was silver on the outside, had burgundy cloth on the inside, and was a complete sweetheart. Smooth, reliable, and dependable in a way of all the best old rear-wheel-drive American cars, that Nova was omnipresent when I was a little kid. I remember puzzling over the cursive script on the front fender - the word began with the letter C, but it was clearly not "Chevrolet." Only when I was much later did I learn that it was actually Concours - which still confuses me.

My first road trip memory is from an incredibly icy and snowy road trip in the Nova. This was a vintage South Dakota blizzard. I was very little and still remember how worried my parents were. Visibility was awful, the car was sliding everywhere, and their relief and pulling into a hotel was palpable. I remember hearing that an elderly man died when he was stuck outside that night - it left a real impression on me. Some of the romantic danger of creeping through the snow and seeing dim taillights through the snow ahead of us has stuck with me all these years.

[That Car Guy on November 29, 2008 at 05:52 PM]

I believe the "Concours" Nova was a luxury trim level, only available for a year or two. We had a friend that had one; orange and white at that. The Vega also offered a luxury trim level for a year or two, the LX, only available on the notchback. Nicely trimmed door panels with carpet, arm rests from the Camaro and Corvette (They always broke}, thick seat cloth, and exclusive wheel covers were also included. A luxury Vega? Who would have ever thought?

[djkenny on November 30, 2008 at 11:39 AM]

We had a 74 Ford Pinto~ Wagon, the yellow squire model. 2.3 liter with the standard 4 speed. Even had AC. Chrome handy roof rack. Everyone had a Pinto in my family back then...Grampa pulled a yellow standard model behind his motor home, Dad had a green early 2 liter as a work car that was all torn up, and my Aunt had a puke green Runabout.

I remember my teenage mom ripping around with the car while I rolled around in the very back with my hot wheels cars. Ahhh...before seat belts were the law.

She always had a Tab cola and cigarette, while shifting and blaring KFRC in the SJ bay area where I grew up. Multi tasking.

I look for an identical car on eBay often.

Mom traded it for a 79 Cuttless Supreme in 1980. She had that car through 1987 when we bought a new Mazda 626 LX touring sedan. I really dug that Mazda to. The digital dash was always off by 10mph or more.

[Ann on December 01, 2008 at 07:45 AM]

1969 Chevy El Camino. Red. Brand New and my father's pride and joy. I had dramatically performed an endo on my tricycle landing face first on the street out in front of our house. When I began throwing up, my parents decided to take me to the emergency room in case I had a concussion. I remember very clearly walking out to my father's car. My mother was carrying a pile of towels and a bucket. My father turned to me and said, "If you have to throw up, do it in the bucket or out the window. Don't do it on the seats."

[Ann on December 01, 2008 at 07:46 AM]

1969 Chevy El Camino. Red. Brand New and my father's pride and joy. I had dramatically performed an endo on my tricycle landing face first on the street out in front of our house. When I began throwing up, my parents decided to take me to the emergency room in case I had a concussion. I remember very clearly walking out to my father's car. My mother was carrying a pile of towels and a bucket. My father turned to me and said, "If you have to throw up, do it in the bucket or out the window. Don't do it on the seats."

[Steaming Pile on December 01, 2008 at 02:01 PM]

1971 Volkswagen Bug. Battered and beaten by the time my brothers and I inherited it, my brother managed to do the impossible - completely trash the transmission.

We got it new and I was in the car for two of the three accidents it was involved in. The first one was when some joker ran a red light and T-boned us, smashing the driver's side of the car in. We were rear-ended the second time and my brother, the one who trashed the tranny later, got four stitches in his lower lip as he hit the back of the passenger-side front seat with his face. I don't know who the joker was who dented the front fender, but it was like that when I got the car, I swear!

I learned to drive a stick with that car. Dad tried to teach me, but he got frustrated when I simply wasn't getting it. I later took the car out without permission while the parental units were out, and drove it around the neighborhood until I finally got it. I was so beside myself, I didn't care what Dad had to say about me taking the car out when he got home. Turns out all he said was, "gee, son, I wish you had asked me first, but good job!"

[Zane Johnson on December 02, 2008 at 10:08 AM]

It was the best of times, it was the worst of times...

1970 BMW 2002: Sweetness on wheels. Light, zippy, and happy to cruise the highway all day every day. Had a Porsche-style synchro in its four-speed Getrag manual, which made for silky-smooth shifting. Expired prematurely after an oil leak went undetected (and unreported to the dashboard), causing an engine seize at high speed. Sadly, I never got to drive it.

Early '70s Volvo wagon: Probably the 145 model; a four-cylinder, dual-carburetor gutless wonder. We called it "the sled." The dual carbs never worked well, and would stay in tune for only a matter of days before regressing back to its normal spluttery performance level. Suffered heavy damage in a t-bone collision, but all parties escaped serious injury. Best thing that could be said about it was that it had thick, glossy enamel paint that aged well.

[Anthony Cagle on December 02, 2008 at 02:47 PM]

Funny, but the other car I have vivid memories of is a crappy Fiat we owned for only a short time. It was a little blue thing with a black vinyl top. I don't remember the model name or anything, but I'd love to find a photo of it. Probably an early '70s version.

We bought it from my uncle (I think) as a second car, and it sure was fun. First car we had with a stick shift. I spent quite some time in that thing practicing my shifting. Once, dad and I were in it outside a local junior high school after attending some Boy Scout function my brother was at, and while we were sitting there the car in front of us started backing up and apparently not knowing we were there. My dad kept furiously trying to get the damn thing in reverse but never did. Honk the horn, you say? Well, that didn't work either.

No end of problems with it though and we finally ended up selling it. To a priest. We admitted it had problems and he said no problem, he's not one to come back bitching, but don't be surprised if we see it floating down the local river some day. I think he had it a while and it caught fire.

So, you know, when people complain about how awwwwwful those American cars were in the '70s I kind of wonder what the point is.

[Bob Sistek on December 02, 2008 at 07:28 PM]

My father had a 1947 Buick Roadmaster convertible, which was almost new when he bought it. It was huge and very imposing and was unmistakably a Buick. It had a straight eight engine that looked to be five feet long, three-speed on the column and no power steering or power brakes. When riding around Washington, D.C. in that car, I felt like the inheritor of the family name.
My biggest thrill was sitting next to my father while he muscled the car into an impossibly tight, parallel parking spot. When he finished, without so much as touching another car, people sitting in a bus across the street, and watching this minor miracle, actually applauded. I felt like I had won a gold cup. Wow!