Mom and Dad bought the station wagon, with its amazing automatic transmission, at about the time I was learning to drive. It was a beast of a car with three bench seats that finally accommodated our family in comfort. The only problem for me was the backwards-facing third seat since I could only manage a few minutes there before extreme nausea (or worse) took over.
I chose to take my driving exam in the Austin because it was smaller and it was boxy, making the cursed parallel park an easy task, but I failed twice for reasons relating to shifting gears. I don’t remember the details other than that the two examiners had opposing views (which, when I think about it, didn’t have much to do with the rules of the road…). I changed my technique in response to the first only to have it blasted by the second; on my third attempt none of it mattered because I took the station wagon and parallel-parked that thing like a pro!
The family still shares hilarious stories about the Pontiac (dubbed “Gronk”), most of which come from Mark’s driving years. In keeping with family tradition, he drove it until its dying days.
The tail light compartments became so corroded that whenever he touched the brakes, the entire interior glowed red.
If ever stopped by a police officer, the officer would have to patiently wait while Mark placed both palms against the driver window, then slowly dragged it downwards to open.
He kept the broken, driver’s-side door handle on the seat beside him; it was easily slotted into place when he had to exit the car.
I can imagine the deterioration in the rest of the vehicle over time but by then I’d moved away and relied on Mark’s stories for updates.
With all its space and length, the Pontiac was easy to drive and oddly easy to manoeuvre. It still didn’t have seatbelts (which didn’t become law until 1987 when I had a child of my own!) or headrests which, though available, were an expensive option that most cars were sold without.
All that extra space for people replaced the traditional trunk so that if there were several passengers, suitcases and other items were packed all around. It wasn’t an issue with fewer occupants and the third seat folded down. Lack of a trunk also required some explaining by Mark, when at another of his police ‘stops’, he was questioned about all the empty liquor bottles in the rear area of the car – he worked at a bottle return depot at the time, and liked to collect the unusual ones.
That great gas-guzzler was a wonderful family car but like all things, made way for advances. Its popularity was overtaken by the minivan, which hubby Larry and I purchased some ten years later.
My Name is Sydney Jo 
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