I was born in a car. It was our first family car, a Ford Consul sedan from 1957 or so. I was a long time getting born, so Mother took castor oil and had a bath. When it finally happened, it happened so fast that Father didn't have time to get her to the hospital. (And we weren't far from the hospital, with only small-town traffic to deal with.) There was a bit of gossip about it at the time. My parents only revealed this to me when I was 37. Oh well, who wants to have been born in a hospital?
Our next car was a 1969 Chevrolet Brookwood station wagon. It was better-suited than the Consul to vacations, and to our family of seven. It had a door at the back that you could swing open horizontally. It also had a cigarette lighter but we removed it to make room for a radio hookup.
In 1978 we got a Chevrolet Malibu sedan. It had new-style seat belts, combining a shoulder belt with a lap belt. Then in 1987 we got a Dodge Colt subcompact. We took it to Scotland for a year. Its licence plate started with the letters ANZ and someone from down under thought we were from Australia or New Zealand!
Our most recent car is a 2001 Mazda Miata. We bought in on September 11 that year. We've had it for twelve years, and we're going to give it up next month and not get a replacement. (Father does most of the driving, and he's now over eighty.) When this happens, we'll truly be city people.
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