Driving in to work the other day, I got to thinking about my automotive genealogy and about how cars help shape our families.
Nearly all the cars I remember as a kid were station wagons. We had a Rambler wagon, like this:
except ours was a forest green. And I remember seeing a picture of the car it replaced, another Rambler wagon with a white roof.
The Ramblers gave way to Chevrolet wagons in the mid-1960s. I remember two pale blue ones, Chevelle wagons, but in the middle was a tan one with that fake wood trim. Now there’s a design element Detroit ought to bring back. I bet it saves GM.
I adopted the last Chevy wagon, and took it to college and my first job. In the 1980s, as it was making its long slow slide to the junkyard, my brother used it as a big, lockable tool box as he was building his house.
At some point in the 1960s, we became a two-car family, which was still a bit unusual at the time. My mother had her own Rambler, an Ambassador we picked up used. One like this:
Again, our car was a light green.
Then after the Rambler, Mom got a 1974 Chevrolet Impala.
This car had the steel, horsepower and raw courage to have led the invasion of Baghdad. I suppose my parents cursed its low gas mileage, but I’m not sure anyone even thought about such at thing when they bought it.