As American as Apple Pie

Did you hear about the 5.0 tremor recently? Contrary to popular opinion and the scientific world, the epicenter was somewhere in southern Appalachia. And it all happened because of me.

Didn't know I could cause the earth to move? Okay, we're not discussing THAT. So get your minds out of the gutter. Yep, my actions caused a massive tremor.

From six feet under.

That was my father rolling in his grave.

All of my life, my father bought good ol' Dee-troit steel. He was a brand-loyal GM follower. When it came time for me to buy my first car, it was all he could do to acknowledge the fact that the car was German. He was a life-long supporter of all things union. And while my first car's company may have been the brainchild of Hitler, at least it was European built using European workers. Heaven help me if the words Honda or Toyota passed my lips.

Booking a rental car at the airport closest to my old hometown proved a comedy of errors. Upon arrival, there were no more mid-size sedans available. So the rental company gave me a convertible instead. In between visits to the hospital to care for my father, that car took me up the mountain to visit family, down the valley to do genealogy research, and along the river for good barbecue. After my father passed away, his sub-compact car became mine.

Driving it reminded me too much of him, and of just accepting things without any say in the matter. So on the spur of the moment, I showed up at my local dealership with the title to the sub-compact and the checkbook in hand. Cash, no better way to buy a car!

So it's not a Chevy like the car I drove during high school and college. I'm not even sure how much, if any, of it is manufactured or assembled in America. But I do know that when the sun comes out and to top goes down, the music on the radio is pure American Rock 'n' Roll.

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