I was amost nineteen and my dad helped me find the perfect car - a '57 Chevy BelAir. He really didn't want me to drive his '56 Chevy Station Wagon any more, so for six hundred dollars I got my used silver and white, very chromed body vehicle. I loved that car. I learned how to wash and wax, change the oil, work on the engine, change tires, and whatever else needed fixing. Of course, my dad was always there to guide me, but I had to do the work. I washed that vehicle every week, unless we had snow. Then I was forced to leave it messy dirty. I had that car unclean car that didn't shine when I drove it. I loved those sexy fins. It was like driving a truck, but I developed muscles where they were needed. I put a hundred thousand miles on it, and sold it for a power steering car, not really loved as much. Oh, such a lovely memory!