It wasn’t a wierd car, but on Saturdays I took my 6-8 year old daughter with me running errands in my 66 VW Beetle. I’d work the clutch, and she shifted the “H Pattern” gears. We had it synchronized and it was a smooth operation. She’s now 53 years old. Aach, du lieber!
My baby (niece) is 57. Know what you mean.
Cars aren’t transportation. I’ve never understood people who felt that way. They’re a home, in some funny way from someone who’s never lived in hers. I slept in the backseat of the Packard as grandfather waited at the bus stop for mother and would sleep under a blanket. Broke my heart when they got rid of the car.
I never want to give one up. For a while we tricked me by always buying the next one to look like the last so I could pretend it was still the same car. For the last two decades we’ve had two identical cars in the driveway. Amuses the neighbors no end.
It was so very hard to grow so old that a stick shift no longer made sense and we had to go automatic. Total mind turn. I see a small convertible go by and I still ache.