It was a classic, rust-red, 1966, Mustang...a convertible, no less!
Not that I remember all of the details....or that I haven't completely forgiven my old friend, now a priest, Fr. Glenn Meaux.
When I saw him walking towards me this morning, coffe cup in-hand, I thought it fitting that he was without wheels.
Not that I hold any hard feelings towards Father. It was only 36 years ago.
Or that I have fond memories of that car.
Of course, it was the car in which I courted Karol.
The front passenger seat reclined as soon as someone sat in it, which led Karol to suspect ulterior motives on my behalf the first time she sat in that seat.
I sssured her that it was a pre-exisitng condition that I had simply inherited. Truth be told, it should have given her a heads-up that the man she was to eventually marry lacked the most basic of mechanical skills.
I had an unerring instinct about picking out the right person to marry, as well as friends, who may wreck your car but whose friendships last!
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