“‘Bury me in the ’65,’ he often says, smiling.”
o be the daughter of a muscle car enthusiast means you probably spent more of your childhood in the garage than other little girls. That was where my dad was. I remember the mystery held by the red Craftsman toolbox that towered over my 5-year-old head and which still lives in his garage to this day. The drawers were so heavy my tiny fingers could barely pull them open to gaze at the endless shiny tools that
