How I came to love Muscle Cars

So, you all might be wondering how it is that I came to adore muscle cars, being of the female orientation.

It started with my father. Yes, every girl I think wants to have something she can share with her daddy and being a very passive, feminine girl you could probably see how that would be a hard thing to come by.

My father was born in 1967, in the era of gas-guzzling muscle and oil shortages escalated by war (not unlike the crunch we are experiencing now). He grew up working on and driving what is now the classic muscle of the time, in fact the green Impala pictured in an earlier post is identical to his sister's car, the first he drove at age 14. From there, he either bought or inherited junk cars and fixed them up to set them back into the world.

In 1989, my father was in a serious head-on collision with a drunk driver who woke up in the courtroom a week after the accident. When paramedics arrived at the scene of the accident they searched for the driver of the totaled Barracuda, expecting to find a corpse. They asked the young man sitting on the curb next to the green Barracuda if he knew where the driver of the car was, only to discover that my father was the driver of the green Barracuda.

Although he had extensive back and knee surgery and massive blood loss during the procedures, he survived. He was in a wheelchair for the next six months or so, but because of that well-built car that he'd just put the finishing touches on that morning, he was alive to see his daughter grow up and was able to have two more children.



So I guess in a way my adoration for these cars is not only because they created a commonality between my father and I, but they saved him. And I am very grateful for that, however odd it may seem.