I have been thinking about the first car I drove--a Pontiac Safari station wagon with a 455 hp engine. Although it was a rather unattractive car for a teenager to drive, I still managed to find the positive and brag to my friends about its power. It did not matter then that the car got only eight miles per gallon--when not running the AC. After reading this week's papers I have been thinking about cars and my first memory. It is wrapped up in a car as well. I was three and a half years old. It was the evening my brother Michael was born. My dad came into my bedroom in the middle of that cold January night and wrapped me in my light blue blanket. He placed me on the back seat of our Pontiac Catalina--no car seats back then. I can still see that car. It was dark green with a black vinyl roof. He carried me into our friend's home and let me fall back to sleep. I was awakened to the news that I was a brother. A few years later, that green Pontiac Catalina was the same car my dad drove around the block searching for me to show me our new puppy. It is funny how one line in a paper can trigger a flood of memories. "GM also announced that it will stop making Pontiacs." I never really understood why old men collect old cars. Now I do. On days such as these we are only left with our memories.