Cool Chick's
Daughter
I remember spring 1964, 3 O’clock in the
afternoon in San Jose, eastside. J.F.K. was no longer a father, husband or
President. The Beatles were the newest reigning rock group screaming “Love Me
Do” out of radios tuned to KLIV and for me, 8th grade was the loneliest place
on earth.
Once again the final bell of the day rang to
end my travail. Trudging toward the exit gate I could hear the rumble before
reaching the sidewalk at the front of Pala School. A low nearly inaudible growl
pulsed from the ermine white chrome laden panther as it rolled up and crouched
at the curb. I realized it had stopped for me and behind the wheel was my mom.
While the entire world watched I opened the door. The interior was a glossy
black. So low to the ground I fell into the front passenger seat like a
weighted sack and with no little struggle pulled the door shut with a loud
heavy thud.
This car was rich. You could feel it in the
weight of the door, hear it in the rumble of the dual exhaust, and see it in
the yearning faces of my classmates. Many years from this moment a strange pale
New Yorker would refer to this a my 15 minutes of fame but in that one instant,
that one heartbeat, that one flash of ermine white enamel and chrome I became
not for 15 minutes but for eternity very, very cool.
Thus went my introduction to mom’s new car. Not showroom new but new enough. Not just a 1963 coupe but a 1963 and a half. That half-year set it distinctly apart from family car status. Bought from a friend suffering a financial drought this was our windfall. His loss was our gain. My mom was the coolest chick on the block and on that day, in that moment I was and would always be, the cool chick’s daughter.
This is not mom's car but its twin
owned by a fellow in British Columbia, Canada.
What a beauty !