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When on February 14 I was 15 and a half years old, my parents were in the driveway of our neighbor’s house and called me over. When I pulled into the driveway, my mom clicked the garage door opener to reveal a Rally Green 1968 Z/28 Camaro with a Happy Valentine’s Day sign on the windshield. I was overwhelmed with excitement, as this was exactly the car I wanted. The only problem was that I had to wait seven months until I was sixteen and able to drive. My dad covered the car and put it in our backyard. I came home from school and started daily and washed at least three times a week.
The day finally came when I got my driver’s license! I had an accident on the way home and badly broke my left ankle and clutch foot. I ended up in a soft cast with my leg elevated for three weeks before they finally fitted me with a hard cast and crutches. That weekend my dad was doing yard work when I hobbled out to my car. He asked what I was doing and I told him I just wanted to start the Camaro. He said I know I can’t drive. When I got in the car I put my leg up and put my cast on the clutch and told myself I think I can do it. I waited for my father to turn his back, then I started for the first drive.
He wasn’t happy when I got back, but let me show him how I can drive. To make a long story short, I got into nothing but trouble. After two speeding tickets, a speeding ticket and a very minor accident, my parents took the car and sold it in 1973.
In 1985 my dad restored a ’57 Chevy Bel Air and tried to get me to buy a ’55 or ’56 Chevy. I told him the only car I wanted was the Camaro Z/28 back. He laughed really hard at this and said after twelve years I would never find him again. You would be wrong. During a DMV visit, I had a car-loving employee print out the car. I followed it and ended up in places in Los Angeles I never should have. I finally found the car in Bakersfield, where another car enthusiast bought it for his sixteen year old son.
The car had been stored for twelve years, had only 42,000 km on it and looked exactly as it did when my family sold it. By 1987, the boy wanted a truck instead of a Camaro, and after fourteen years, I got my car back—for a little more than $1,300 a day. For the past thirty-six years, my car has remained in my garage and I only see it occasionally at car shows, usually my son takes it. The Camaro is unrestored and looks incredible for its age if I do say so myself. We are now on the third generation for those who love it as my grandson is now four years old.
–Randy R., California
