A long time ago, in a world far, far away (OK, at Atlantic Beach, a few weeks ago) Susan and I had the pleasure of hosting one of the star guests for Anna Wooten Gauss and Randall Loggin's wedding. When I first saw her, I was stunned by her classic beauty and her timeless style. She was a member of Randall's family and a star of the wedding party and she was familiar to me (and you're thinking oh my God here we go again) but no one else in the wedding party knew her. In fact she was from South Georgia but she was familiar in a different, non-familial way.

It was 10:30 on a dark Thursday night before the wedding festivities started on Friday when the family showed up with her at our cottage and I could see her outline as I walked out to the truck in which she was riding. I couldn't see her well but suddenly the clouds parted and the moonlight shone down so I could see her more clearly even in the darkness. There she was. Perfectly lovely. A 1966 Mustang Convertible that was Wimbledon White with a Blue Top, Pony Interior, Factory Air and Power Top and very similar in so many ways to my first car. It was going to be the car to drive the bride and groom away from the reception and how much more perfect could it be? My heart started beating a little bit faster the minute I saw it. Then it was taken off the trailer and put into our garage for safe keeping for the weekend. Mustang convertibles have had a special place in my heart for a long, long time.

In the summer of 1973 in Washington, DC, the Watergate scandal was brewing and in Wilson, NC there was an arsonist setting fire to several beautiful homes in our neighborhood. Pretty big stuff was going on all around me but all I had on my mind was what kind of car I was going to be driving once I turned 16 on June 17th of that same year. Those thoughts consumed me and while I was more than prepared to get my license, I wanted a car and it was very uncertain if that was going to happen or not.

And I didn't want just any car, I wanted something good looking, sporty and fun. My serious, safety minded, I-couldn't-care-less-about-a-car father said I could drive the family car or maybe, he hinted, there was an office car, a 1970 Ford Maverick, that he might be willing to let me drive. He was very indefinite if that was going to happen or not. A Ford Maverick was not my kind of car but I needed something to drive and for once in my life, I kept my mouth shut and didn't say it wasn't a car I would be interested in. Miracles sometimes happen.

So you can fully appreciate this tale and to give you some insight into my father and cars, at this point in time he drove an old Chevrolet Biscayne Station Wagon. Biscayne was the bottom of the Chevy line. No, it was beneath the bottom of the line. If you wanted cheap, Biscayne was below that. It had a boring tan exterior with a matching, boring, tan, plastic interior. No a/c. No radio. Hand-crank windows (power windows were just something else to break down dad said). It didn't even have the arms of a clock but it did have the numbers on the clock on the dash to constantly remind you that you were too cheap to pay for the arms. The numbers of the clock were also there to torture your son who really cared about these kinds of things.

The engine was a source of loud guffaws from his friends (probably a V-2 if there was such a thing...0 to 60 in about 10 minutes) because the engine block was so small under the hood you could see more ground and daylight than engine if you opened the hood to take a look. I was too ashamed to do so (as if I could figure out how to open a hood anyway). It was cheap. Less than cheap. Or is it more than cheap? Whichever is worse.

Suffice it to say he was not a car man. His cheap cars so affected me, I have to have a nice car to this day. At least, that's my excuse and I'm sticking to it. And if I ever drive a tan car, shoot me on sight or know that Altzheimers has officially set in. If I'm too poor to afford a nice car, I'll be happy to take public transportation.

And one more commentary on my childhood and cars before we move this story forward. Our neighbors and friends the Graves family across the street drove the fancy Ford Town N Country Station Wagon fully loaded with facing third row seats and wood paneling on the sides. Nothing says successful family man like wood paneling and that car was on all my favorite TV shows...you know the ones with the perfect, normal families? And then there was the Lamm family, also our friends, who lived beside the Graves family and they drove a Cadillac Fleetwood that was so huge it looked like the Queen Mary coming down Watson Drive. It had power everything, including trunk, seats, doors and windows and AM/FM radio. It would even kiss you goodnight when you turned it off.

Grown men have penis envy but I had car envy. I was so embarrassed by our car with powerless windows that I would sit in the driveway for hours and practice rolling the windows up and down very smoothly so my shoulders didn't move and the windows moved as if machines were doing it effortlessly. My friends and neighbors would think we had power windows in our Chevy Biscayne as we passed by even if we didn't. Because if you had power windows in your car, you'd have more friends. Or something like that. I know. Sad.

So on my birthday the Maverick showed up and I tried to muster a little bit of excitement but it was hard to hide my disappointment. I took it for a spin and headed over, by myself, to Park Town New and Used Cars just to see what might be there and another miracle was about to happen. There on the side of the lot was a 1967 Mustang Convertible. Navy Blue. White top. Four speed. AM radio. Power Top. $750 of 16 year old teenage boy perfection. I asked about it and the salesman, a little creepy looking, but my new best friend, told me he couldn't sell it to me because of my age but he would hold it for a day if I could bring a parent back to sign the paperwork. The race was on.

As luck would have it, my grandmother, Mary Hunter, had saved money for all her grandchildren for educational purposes and somehow I had the passbook to my account (yet another miracle.....God must have seen me rolling the windows up and down in the driveway and was feeling extra sorry for me). I was about to buy something that was going to help with a different and maybe more important kind of education than my grandmother originally had in mind.

Driving home I was deciding how to talk to Mother since I instinctively knew it was hopeless to bring it up with Dad. As I was turning it over in my mind, I turned the corner and the speaker from the Maverick dash fell out and hit my knee. It fell out of the dash because the car didn't have a glove compartment-just open space between the not well attached speaker and my knee. Before the Maverick I didn't know a car could be made without a glove compartment (even the Biscayne had a glove box). Only my father could find a car cheaper than the Biscayne. It was definitely a sign from God (yet another miracle) that I didn't need to drive this awful car. Some people get burning bushes...I get speakers falling out of dashes and bank passbooks falling into the "wrong hands". You have to take what you get and I took them and ran.

My mother was never much on following the normal rules of life (to say the least) and when I explained to her what I wanted to do she acted like it was the best plan in the world and off we went to Park Town to buy the car. The next stop was my father's office to return the Maverick. What an ungrateful, snotty nosed brat I was to do that but what an incredibly sexy car that ungrateful, snotty nosed brat had to do it in. Top down, of course. My life was already changing for the better.

Driving the convertible home with my mother I could see the look of both joy and terror alternating on her face. The joy was from the drive with the top down - a simple pleasure she hadn't experienced being married to a man who didn't care about the pleasures of a fun car. You're thinking the terror was from driving in the car with a recently licensed 16 year old, but actually I was quite a good driver. The terror was because of the wind messing up her freshly done hair-do but on that particular day, she finally gave in to the pleasure of letting the wind have it's way with her hair. She gave into another pleasure that same day and went to the Creamery for a burger and shake with me. Back then she would have an unhealthy meal every now and then. Yet another miracle.

I drove that car back and forth to Atlantic Beach all summer and it went to Chattanooga, Tennessee with me for my senior year of high school. I drove it up and down Signal Mountain and Lookout Mountain more times than I can count. A portable, battery operated eight track tape player sat on the back seat and provided endless music anytime it was needed. Love Will Keep Us Together. Philadelphia Freedom. Jive Talkin'. Mandy. All with the top down whenever the weather allowed. I skipped mandatory Sunday church and went to a friend's house and sat by the pool with friends- a much more meaningful religious experience for my tastes. The rebellious (Lite) thing was kicking in too.

On to my freshman year and most of my friend's parents were taking their children to college to unpack them, make up their beds and make sure their dorm rooms were perfect but my parents did something else as I drove myself to Chapel Hill in my Mustang and unpacked myself. My parents came to Chapel Hill a few weeks later when it worked for their schedule (and mine) and then I showed them my room, we went shopping for a few things I needed, went out to dinner at Slugs at the Pines and they went back home. That was our normal. They were not helicopter parents in any sense of the word and in fact were more like David Cooperfield parents - great at disappearing quickly, which honestly worked well for all three of us.

I met Susan in Chemistry Lab that fall (I know, right?) and she had to move dorms a few times and asked me to move her each time in the convertible, top down, packed with every belonging she owned in the world. The damsel in distress thing worked well for both of us in those days.

I drove that car all over Orange County and back and forth between there, Wilson County and Carteret County, usually with the top down, always having a great time, tape player blaring from the back seat. The only problem I ever had with the car was one summer at the beach the water evaporated out of the battery and it cracked. Dad was furious that I hadn't kept water in the battery and he had to buy a new one. Who knew batteries needed water? He'd never told me that so how the hell was I supposed to know? Another life lesson learned by experience-one of many to come.

By my sophomore year at UNC, I had the opportunity to buy a 1971 Cutlass Convertible with factory installed AC and a factory installed 8 track tape player-all incredible luxuries to me at 19. I begged my father to let me keep the Mustang but he told me if I bought the Cutlass the Mustang had to go and there was no way I could afford both. A friend from UNC bought the old Mustang and he still owns it to this day. There's no telling what it's worth but I believe I sold it for $1,500, twice what I paid for it but even at that, I really wanted to keep it but couldn't. Sometimes you have to do things you don't really want to do. Another important life lesson learned at an early age.

The weekend of Anna Wooten and Randall's wedding I went down to the garage many, many times just to look at their good-looking getaway car and reminisce about all the great times I had in my old Mustang. And to think about what was, and what is and the many miracles of my lifetime. How lucky I was to have a grandmother who saved enough money for me to buy a car I loved...and a mother who would let me spread my wings to buy it....and a father who didn't make me return it even though he thought (knew) it was unsafe....and then they let me go and take it out into the world. And by some miracle I not only survived but I thrived and I now have these great memories that I can share with you also bore my children with. And boy am I grateful.

I've had several convertibles since then but none are quite as special as the Mustang. Convertibles got into my blood early in life and have never gotten out but I haven't had one in a while. it's time for another one and a convertible may show up in my driveway one day soon. It's definitely time and who knows how it may happen? I still believe in miracles.