By Les Ferguson Jr.
Columnist

The first manual-shift car I drove was a 1960s-model Chevrolet Corvette. I was thirteen years old and at the farm of family friends near Oak Grove, Louisiana. The car was used for racing, and against all odds, I was given the keys to drive that old car on the dusty backroads in the middle of nowhere. That day, I taught myself to drive a standard, and in the process, I was hooked.

Fast forward five years, and I was 18 years old, and the car of my wildest imagination was in reach. She was stingray sleek. Metallic blue with chrome side pipes, she had a throaty rumble that more than suggested pure, unadulterated power.

A 1975 Stingray Corvette has long been the dream car of a lifetime, and in 1980, I found her. She was used but sweet and affordable until I considered insurance. That was my dad’s input and, ultimately, the killer of my dream. I couldn’t pay some five hundred plus dollars a month for insurance. Not then.

Probably not now, were that to be the case.

That dream died on the vine like some of my summer squash and tomatoes. Was I disappointed?

Absolutely.

In time, my dream morphed into the catchphrase “Vette by thirty.” But Navy life with a wife and small children caused a change in plans. In time, the goal became “Vette by forty.” But again, life, family, and ministry made the dream unattainable and even less important than it had been.

Then, for a while, I flirted with the idea of “‘Vette by fifty.” In time, that became, “Hey, Mister, can I have a ride in your Vette?”

With no disrespect to all the older Corvette owners out there, it used to drive me nuts seeing an “old man” driving a souped-up, factory-fresh, man-made piece of lightning. At this stage of life, I understand why. First, an older guy is more likely to be able to afford such a luxury. Second, an older driver is probably less likely to wrap it around a tree.

Over the last decade or so, I have typically just smiled and admired when I see a Corvette of any vintage. I can readily appreciate its lines and beauty. But still, the dream persists. These days, it seems like Facebook can read my mind. I’m inundated with Marketplace ads for used, affordable vintage Corvettes.

Will it ever happen? I have no idea and no plans, but a guy can still dream no matter how unlikely it might be.

In the meantime, I know and have something worth more than a gas-hungry V-8 in the garage. I look around at my home, family, friends, and ministry and know I’ve been blessed much more than I deserve.

Pursue your ambitions, but never forget your greatest blessings. They will sustain even when dreams are lost.

“But I will see your face in righteousness; when I awake, I will be satisfied with your presence.” (Psalms
17:15 CSB)