Gramps gave me the car when he died, with a hole in one door and a big bulge in the other ( I think it was a grandfatherly way of saying “You dumb shiite. Deal with it and never forget.”) I drove it in high school and everyone looked at me like I was my own granpa. I left for the service in 1969 and the car sat for five years. When I got home, the motor wouldn’t turn. Sold it for decent money and bought a ‘68 Shelby Cobra fastback that needed a lot of work and I WISH I STILL HAD THAT HEAVY MONSTER. Oh, well. I guess Gramps got back at me after all.
What a great story. Thanks.