My mom has always said that she knew, at first glance, the Camaro was supposed to be hers.
During August of 1976, Mom received her first teaching paycheck from Denver City ISD. She immediately took her brother and father to Lubbock to assist in her search for a new car.
My grandfather wanted something practical for his daughter, but my mom had already decided on a Camaro. After driving a used Camaro at one dealership, my grandfather encouraged Mom to look elsewhere before she made a decision. At their second stop, Shamrock Chevrolet, Mom happened to glance toward the back of the lot.
"You know how your camera zooms in really fast? That's what it was like - my eyes just zoomed in," she said of seeing her Camaro for the first time.
Mom drove away in a metallic kelly green, 1976 Camaro Type LT with a V-8 engine, complete with a green dash, green seatbelts and carpet, and white vinyl seats.
I spent a lot of time in that car as a child.
I traveled to and from the babysitter's house, and eventually school, in the Camaro. Mom drove us to the pool in the car during the summer. We went to the grocery store, home football games, karate and piano practice, and church in the Camaro. I'm pretty sure the first word I learned to spell was "Camaro" - the word was written in cursive on the glove compartment and I traced it with my finger when I sat in the passenger seat.
As the car got older and the family required a little more space than the two cubic feet available in the Camaro, we used it exclusively for in-town trips. Finally, a few months after I turned 16, my parents reluctantly allowed me to drive the Camaro.
My mom always told me that I was a bad driver (I concur) and said she wanted me to drive the Camaro because it was basically a tank.
Oh, the miles I put on that car.
In a small town such as Monahans (population just over 6,000), there is very little for teenagers to do other than drive around in a car. And drive I did - up and down the drag that stretched between Sonic and Town and Country and along farm roads just outside of town every weekend and summer night. Usually, the windows were down and music was blaring on the ancient speakers as I toted friends around town.
But I couldn't get away with much in the Camaro. The body style and color gave it away - everyone in town knew that the booger-green car belonged to my mom, Coach Wilson. Out of fear, I was rarely anywhere I wasn't supposed to be.
Nonetheless, it was pretty fun to drive. It had its mechanical issues, but that's what made a drive that much more interesting. The motor had an awesome roar that you only get with older model cars. I think it got about eight or 10 miles per gallon, and I always arrived at school smelling slightly of exhaust.
In order to start the car effectively, Dad taught me to pump the gas pedal twice, and then turn the ignition. I almost always flooded the engine. If the car didn't have a chance to run for a few minutes, especially in the cold, the RPMs would run so high that I could drive 30 mph without touching the gas pedal.
He usually tried to start it for me on cold mornings, but even he was unsuccessful at times. Mom always said the car didn't like him much.
The car leaked power steering fluid, and I would fill it up at least once a week. I could unlock the doors and start the ignition with pretty much any car key.
But these flaws just added to the character of the car.
I drove to college in a bland Toyota Camry that had electric door locks and windows and never leaked power steering fluid. It was one of a thousand forest green sedans on the highway. But I always made a point to go driving around in the Camaro during my trips home.
My mom kept the car running up until a couple of years ago. Finally, the cost to maintain the Camaro was more than my parents cared to spend, and Mom sold it in the fall.
She let Dad handle all of the arrangements - it was just too hard for her to let go of the car that had journeyed with her for 32 years.
I miss the Camaro, too. It's hard to think that I won't see it sitting in front of the house when I go for a visit.
But, maybe that means it's time for me to find my dream car.
