[Orion88]

My life has always revolved around old cars. As long as I can remember I've been in love with them. My first car that I ever drove to school was a 1958 Buick Special... I can still remember being blinded by all of that chrome!! But when we moved further away I couldn't afford the gas for the 364 Nailhead-powered lead sled. So my dad sold her.....

Years went by without that vintage car smell to make me feel at ease... although I did manage to have quite a bit of fun in a 2001 Ford Police Interceptor, until the spotlight burnt out. Probly for the best. It was only a matter of time before I got arrested...

I had been bugging my dad about restoring an old car since he got rid of the Buick when I was 17, and one day he brought home a 67 Camaro rust bucket with a solid running 400 small block. The project was unfortunately too far gone for a punk kid like me with minimal mechanical know-how, so we turned it for a nice profit.

Now that I was in college I had managed to save up some money and I bought a 1981 Z28 Camaro that was being built for drag racing... and it had scary amounts of power. I had started sanding on it to repaint it and was making good headway when I found out I was accepted to do a semester in New Zealand. Turned out to be the best trip of my life, and a great experience overall. However, I had returned to find my dad's garage to be absent of any evidence that an 81 Z28 had ever even been there... aside from the oil and transmission leak stains of course. Turns out he sold it while I was gone. Can't say I blamed him.

So after the trip to New Zealand I had zero funds to start another project, or even get a driveable mediocre muscle car. It took a few months to make peace with the fact that I would probably be in my mid-30's by the time I ever had a reputable piece of Detroit Iron to drive again. Then my dad did the last thing I ever expected him to do.

It was the August before my Senior year at Purdue and I was school shopping with my best friend Sarah when my dad called.
"when are you gonna be home?"
"I don't know... 20 minutes? Why?"
"Well we have to go to dinner with some friends and we have the license plate for your truck to put on."
"Ok, just leave it on the table and I'll take care of it when I get home."
"That's alright, we will wait til you get back."

I immediately don't know what his deal is. I've worked as a mechanic in his shop ever since I graduated high school. Why would I need help putting a new license plate on my truck?? Whatever. I start heading home. When I'm 3 minutes away my phone rings again.

"Are you almost here?"
"Yeah, just around the corner. Why?"
"Well we are gonna be late for dinner."
"THEN GO TO DINNER!! I can handle two screws and a damn license plate!"
"That's alright. You'll be here soon."

What the hell?! Does he think I'm too incompetent to put a damn license plate on my truck?? Who does he think he is?!

So I walk in the door and he says we need to go to the garage to get my license plate. By now I'm just flat out mad. They could have been on time to dinner and enjoying themselves if he trusted me enough to change out my license plate. But whatever. Let's get this over with.

I'm standing at the garage, arms folded, shaking my head in frustration. He hits the opener button and I'm angrily watching the door come up....

As the door rises I find myself staring at a gnarly set of split grills three beautiful letters staring right back at me... G-T-O

I don't really remember what I did or said after that point, but my parents said my reaction was quite comical and ecstatic. My friend Sarah might have been just as exited as I was. When I asked him why he bought it and when he was ever gonna have time to drive it, he tossed me the keys with a big smile on his face. Apparently I lost my mind all over again. Like I said I was a little too blown away and don't remember the details.

I immediately jumped in, relishing the solid sound of the door shutting behind me and taking in the beautiful smell of 40 years of gas, oil, vinyl, and burnt rubber. I turned the key and the beastly Pontiac 400 rumbled to life. I couldn't believe it... my own 1970 Pontiac GTO... and it actually runs and drives!!!

Once my parents left for dinner I took my friend Sarah with me on the maiden voyage... Ritters Frozen Custard. If there was a Top Notch anywhere within a 100-mile radius we would have went there just for the nostalgia but there isn't. I couldn't stop smiling the whole time. The rumble of the exhaust, the thumbs up as I drove down the road, even the body roll made me smile.

She's been my daily driver during the warmer 9 months of the year up until 10 months ago when I couldn't stand it any longer and had to start a restoration. She currently sits in my garage, the body on a set of furniture dollies, the frame on a set of jack stands with a fresh coat of rustoleum semi-gloss black. If I'm lucky I will have her on the road again in time for Norwalk.

Driving and working on this car has completely taken over my life. Every dollar I can spare and every weekend I have available goes into the car. Im sure once it's finished things won't change much. I don't think I could ever repay my dad for this. He thinks I'm an idiot for tearing it apart, but I think he's actually proud of me for tackling such a project.