There’s a game I used to play as a kid where the object is to count as many different models of cars as you can find. It’s really more of a way to kill time on a long roadtrip than an actual game, but it helped to make the hours more bearable.
Lately, a friend and I have revived that game with a twist. We walk around the parking lot and try to pick out all the different kinds of cars. There’s always the usual suspects– Ford, Chevrolet, Mercedes, Dodge, Honda. Every now and then, I’ll see a Pontiac or a Mercury.
But one car I have yet to see in one of these contests is an Oldsmobile. In fact, I can’t remember the last time I’ve seen one. I imagine those aren’t exactly in high demand as collectible antiques.
I suppose my reasoning for wanting to find one is to have a sort of connection with something tangible from my past. To me, Oldsmobile in a way represents an era from my life that I can never get back to. A time in my life that now only lives in my memory and in faded photographs.
Every time I see an old station wagon, I have vivid flashbacks to riding in the rear seat that faced the rear window. I confess I was always a bit freaked out seeing the cars coming at me, wondering what would happen if one plowed through the back of that old station wagon into my seat.
So the game continues. My quest is to find an Oldsmobile. It’s not a lofty ambition or a bucket list goal, but it might conjure up a few more happy childhood memories.