This week marked the anniversary of the end of the most deadly war our country has ever known. On April 9, 1865, Confederate General Robert E. Lee surrendered his 28,000 starving and defeated troops to Union General Ulysses S. Grant in Appomattox, Virginia. For most, the end of the war was joyful news, as the US embarked on a rebuilding phase. The nation’s joy would be short-lived, however—just 5 days later, President Abraham Lincoln was assassinated by a Confederate sympathizer conspiring to overthrow the US government. But despite this enormous tragedy taking place while the wounds of war were still fresh, somehow they healed, making the Civil War the last time that our great nation would be divided within its borders. Instead, history shows that our country pulls together in times of crisis, strengthening the bonds established by our forefathers on that April day. And although, just like the rest of the world, the US is an ever-changing place, this is one thing we all hope never changes.
How many times have you seen a classic car go by and remember when you had one just like it? I actually get a little pang in my heart when that happens. When I was growing up, my dad was a great mechanic, and his best friend was a used car dealer. Together they would hit the auctions, and my dad would come home with a different used car every few months. Usually he’d fix it up and sell it for profit, but every once in a while he’d keep it for himself or for my mom. When I got my license and started asking for a car of my own, he brought home a cute little silver number. I knew nothing about cars, only that I wanted one that looked “cool,” and this one filled the bill. It was small, not like the huge 4-door family cars I had been driven around in all my life. I zipped around in it like nobody’s business. But like many inexperienced drivers, I drove a bit too recklessly, and I paid the price one winter night when I hit a patch of ice, slammed on the brakes, and went into a spin. I wrecked the car. When I called my dad, he of course wanted to know if I was OK (I was), and he arrived on the scene just in time to tell the tow truck driver where to take the wreckage. I never saw it again. I knew he was disappointed in me, but it was nothing compared to the disappointment I had in myself–especially when I realized years later that my very first car had been a Mustang Fastback. Since then, I’ve owned many cars–too many to count. They’ve come and gone for different reasons, but I’ve never pined for any of them like I do for that Mustang! What I wouldn’t give to drive it one more time.
