It was sunny and warm the afternoon my dad rolled up the driveway in that maroon 1953 Roadmaster V-8 sedan. I had been playing outside - waiting to see the new car - since Dad had left to pick it up.
What a beautiful sight. Dad was wearing a short-sleeved white shirt, aviator-style sunglasses with green lenses and an ear-to-ear smile.
No, it wasn't his first Buick. We also had a blue 1950 Special. But that was a two-door and only had three portholes. Dad also had owned a 1947 maroon Super Sedanet, which was his first new car after being discharged from the Army after World War II. He drove it on his honeymoon and a year later brought me home from the hospital in it.
My father, like his father before him, was a Buick man.
Eventually, that changed. Dad was an engineer at another automaker, and after years of being told to park at the far end of the lot, he relented and bought the proper brand. It was a nice enough car, though it didn't have portholes.
But on that warm day when we became a two-Buick family, everything fit into place. Mom, who had learned to drive only a few years before, had her own car. Mom could take me, my sister and my brother with her when she went shopping or ran errands.
The Roadmaster was a lot more fun than the Special, especially for us kids. It had four doors, which made it easier to get in and out, especially in the winter, when we were bundled up. Or when it was parked in the
driveway with the windows down, and I could get in and pretend I was driving. The Roadmaster also had a fold-down armrest in the back seat that was a great place to hide little treasures.
It's funny the things you remember after so many years.
And do you know what? Dad, who's 81, still remembers his father's blue 1929 Buick Master Series sedan.
Some things are just too important to forget.