Today I came across a something I didn’t know still existed. Something I saw, a place I’d been. I guessed it would have been gone a long time ago.

But then I just stumbled across it. And the memory was there.

A day in the late spring or early summer, 1972. From the partially shaded front yard in my memory, it was before noon, sunny and warm; not hot. It must have been a Saturday. I was home and out the window, my dad pulled into the driveway with a Volkswagen bug that wasn’t ours. We had a blue one. A '62 and he kept that in perfect condition though it was ten years old.

I ran outside and he told me he was on a test drive and asked if I’d like to go with him. Of course I did! It was time with dad and he always made me laugh. And it was a new car. I’d never been for a ride in a new car.

Everything seemed different, more exciting. Newer.

For a 5 year old, it was a long ride back to the dealer in Salt Lake City from the suburbs where we lived. But it didn’t seem long this time.

Then we were back at the dealership. I’m sitting in a chair by a table and I’m looking out the window and there’s a yellow bug, convertible, and I’m telling dad we should get that one. He chuckled and told me convertibles are fun in the summer but not very practical where we live. Okay.

And that’s where this memory started. I was driving down Main Street and passed the dealership. Or the building where it was in 1972. Back then, it was L.H. Strong Volkswagen. Now it’s Strong Used cars. But I recognized the building. The doors and door handles are the same. That’s where I sat. Five years old. Looking out the window at that yellow convertible bug. I was back there, and back then.

We’re getting the orange one. It’s more red-orange, really. Pretty rare, looking back. Most orange bugs were just orange.

It’s time to go. I get in the back seat, driver's side, and it’s new and it’s ours. It’s got seat belts. That’s cool. Never been in a car with seat belts. I guess I’ll try those out. It’s a lap belt. I pull it hard but it won’t come out. I tell dad the seat belt doesn’t work. He tells me you have to pull it out slowly. “You should put yours on, dad.” I tell him. His has a shoulder belt too. Weird, but okay. He puts it on because if you don’t there’s a loud buzzer that will just keep buzzin until it wears you down and you put on your seatbelt. The car knows you don’t have your seat belt on? “How does it know, dad?” He tells me about a sensor in the seat that can tell if someone is sitting in it. Space-age.

We’re diving. The windows are down. That’s how you keep from getting hot. The rear windows don’t roll down on a bug, so I feel the wind coming through dad’s window.

This is great! I can’t wait to show it to the sisters. That’s how I refer to my siblings. My three older sisters. I finally know about something before them.

We pull into our single car driveway, park behind the white station wagon.

I tell dad, I think I’ll just sit in it for a while. He smiles and tells me how to lift up the seat when I want to get out. Yep, there’s also a knob you have to pull to get the seat to lean forward. This car has crazy-cool features.

That car became mine. When I went off to college, dad gave it to me. I wish I’d had the financial ability to keep it and keep it going. But that wasn’t practical. It got old, a little unsafe; holes in the floor and such. If I could have one do-over, on the day I sold it I would have lifted that seat lever, climbed in the back seat, driver’s side, click on that seat belt and remember.

The Volkswagen's last day.