Summer vacations meant all five of us loading up in the 1985 white, two-door Caprice Classic.

This was the “good” car, and my parents’ pride and joy for many years. I remember all the trips we made to Columbia, walking around car lots, talking to salesmen, asking about options, and test driving different vehicles. I remember the list of options my parents put together for the big day when they finally ordered the car. I remember that the day we went to order the car, my dad forgot the list they had worked so diligently on and had to re-think of everything they wanted. He knew he had filled every line of a college ruled piece of notebook paper, and therefore there were 32 options they were requesting. (In my mid-20’s, this made a very fun bar game—guessing and writing out the 32 options on a cocktail napkin.) And I remember the Caprice’s maiden voyage when we drove the car home and took pictures of it in the backyard from every possible angle.

This car had everything my parents wanted: navy blue cloth interior (that a drunken college friend once deemed velour), air conditioning, hand crank windows (so we wouldn’t get our fingers smashed), Whitewall tires with spoke wheels, only one side mirror (so the car would fit in the garage), two doors (so we couldn’t open them ourselves) and a coordinating navy blue pinstripe down the sides.

On day two of Caprice Classic ownership, we went to buy plastic covering, which was custom fitted to the entire inside of the car floor, in order to avoid any stains from spills. Next, we purchased navy blue towels and covered all of the seats. To this day, I don’t understand all the precautions because we weren’t allowed to eat or drink in the car anyway.

Twenty-five years later, the Caprice has over 200,000 miles on it, has gone through ditches, fishtailed on gravel roads, rolled four deep in the front and five deep in the back, has seen the east coast, west coast, and Gulf of Mexico, moved all of my furniture to college, survived three children and then three high school and college aged drivers, and is still going strong.

Many times, in the ghetto of Kansas City, great proposals were made to me at stoplights and gas stations, offering much more money than the ‘ole girl was worth. (She’s too old now to even look up in the Kelly Blue Book.) The plastic and towels are long gone, but my dad still keeps the faith and plans to restore her some day. For the time being, my brother enjoys the boat and uses it*, even though the muffler is missing.

*Jacob no longer drives the Caprice, but did manage to really add some damage to her before he bought his own car.

I’m guessing she’ll be getting special antique car plates in the near future.

[I found this picture of interior cloth options. Look how many choices there were in 1985! There's nine different shades of gray!]