And now for something a little different…

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Dad joke: “Do you know why I stopped you today, sir?” the officer asked. “Because I let you,” Carl replied.

My dad always loved a good joke—the cornier the better. He also loved old cars—the older the better.

When I was a kid, our family would be driving down the road, and my dad would say, “Look at that! A ‘66 Mustang!” Or “A vintage Ford! What a beauty!” I would yawn. Cars were soooo boring.

When my parents said, “We do,” they were not only in love but also young and poor. They worked hard to make ends meet; their cars were a means to that end. The cars weren’t fancy; in fact, they were barely functional.

Mom still laughs about that old ‘55 Pontiac. It had a hole in the floorboard, right under the driver’s feet. “You could see the pavement through it,” she says.

One day—I kid you not—when she flipped on the turn signal, the lever fell off and went right down through the hole in the floorboard.

One summer, in that same car, the heater wouldn’t turn off and the window wouldn’t roll down. Needless to say, Mom and Dad were thrilled when they could finally let that clunker go.

A gorgeous restored fire truck. That color!

Fortunately, by the time my sister and I came of driving age, the cars we used were reliable and hole-free. (Until I had that unfortunate incident in reverse. But I digress...)

As an adult, my favorite car was a silver Audi wagon, with sleek lines, leather seats, and plenty of cupholders. A super-cool young friend from church walked by one day and said appreciatively, “Nice ride.” I think my heart gave a little flutter.

Because of the safety ratings and design, the Audi was perfect for me and my little girl. She and I named her Carly. Carly would haul, letmetellyou. Not a tame wagon, this car would go fast—fast. It would hug the curves of the road, accelerate out of the turns, and even spray some gravel when we roared up to the preschool. (Just kidding about the gravel.)

But alas, all good cars come to an end, and that one, as much as it pained me, had one expensive repair too many. So I waved goodbye to it and hello to a legit mom-car that was safe, reliable, and affordable: a navy blue 2008 Honda CRV. Fewer cylinders and less panache but still comfortable and unpretentious. I loved it.

My daughter grew up in that car, and on her 16th birthday, with almost 100K miles to its credit, that Honda became hers. I missed it when we finally sold it a few years later.

Now my ride is a six-year-old silver CRV, with more comfort and a dashboard loaded with tech. This one hasn’t stolen my heart in the same way, but that’s fine by me. True to Honda form, it is dependable, safe, and efficient, but the best feature of all?

It’s paid off.

When Dad and Mom paid off a car, they’d celebrate their accomplishment and drive it for several more years, enjoying the extra cash. Then one day they’d call and say, “Guess what? We went to the car dealership today…”

Truly, I rarely notice cars, but when I see an old pickup or restored sedan, I can’t help but gawk.

“Look at that!” I say, pointing. “It’s a vintage something or other!”

Whoever’s riding with me nods and yawns.

“Papa would know what it’s called,” I say, smiling. And just like he would do, I watch that four-fendered beauty glide right on by.

Do you have memories of a special car? Share them in the comments below.

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