Nick D'Apolito Creative Writing

Since I was a young child I had been surrounded by cars of all types. My dad owned three older cars, a 1953 MG, a 1954 MG, and a 1932 Nash, and my uncles owned so many I can not remember them all. Also, whenever I would visit my uncles or cousins they would be elbows deep in some sort of automotive project, whether it was changing the oil in their race car or entire rebuild, some thing was always going on. From this young age on I realized I loved cars, but my love was different than other's love, it was deeper, more meaningful. I love the smell of classic cars exhaust fumes, the sound of a rumbling V-8 engine and even the vibration an older car gives off when revving the engine.

When most people say they love their car, they say that because it has just gotten them from point A to point B, or because it gets good gas mileage. All three of my cars gas mileage combined barely equal some new cars miles per gallon, but for me it is not about that. It is about the enjoyment of driving, the thrill of acceleration, and the roar of a deep and rough exhaust tone. Loving a car for most people does not really mean much, they would easily get rid of their current car for another with no remorse, but for me, if I had to see one of my cars go, even for another, it would feel like I lost a part of myself.