1966 Ford F-100

My father and I were always very close due to the fact that the male-female ration in our household was two-to-two, so we couldn't risk defecting to "the other side" and potentially lose ground in the everlasting battle of football on Sundays, action movies on movie night and other masculine endeavors. There was a known code that we had each other's back lest the girls get the upper hand. As far back as I can remember, it was Dad and me. One of my earliest memories was of sitting in the driver's seat of my dad's beloved 1966 Ford F-100 pickup - the car in which my parents dated and eventually became their first car in marriage - which had long been sidelined in the garage. I remember pretending like I was driving on the soft, velvet-like bench seat; he would work in the garage and I would transform into driver extraordinaire, much to his pride and delight. I don't know when it began, but my love affair with the "66", as he called it, continues until today. I've heard many stories from various people about how I used to sit on the step behind the driver's seat - it was a single-cab stepside model - and repeat with a naive certainty, "My truck, my truck." I had never seend the truck move more than an inch, but I had already staked my claim and nobody would get in the way of it. 60DL12