In 2 hours you'll spontaneously combust unless you have sex with someone you've never slept with before. What's your strategy?

The station wagon means a lot to me. A lot.

It isn't a car, a purveyor of people. It's an era. A space in time. A time when people were gracious, worked hard to get ahead and the family came first. And they had pride. Pride in their work, their family, their home and their Country. They were proud to be Americans in a free Country where you could succeed with hard work and a little ingenuity. If a neighbor should have a problem people would unselfishly reach out a helping hand because, by God, we were Americans and we stood together. There was an inherent honesty in those times. People cared and it was legitimate. They cared about quality in their work. They cared about good family values. They cared about others. They cared about the American flag and all the things it represented. The station wagon was a significant part of that time. It was the best of times.

To some, the wagon was a work horse that carried tools to the job. To some, it was the family car that carried the family and all their necessities to a quiet lake for a deserved vacation. To some, it was both and more. It carried kids to the game and to the local drive-in movie. It pulled boats, travel trailers and other cars. It carried lumber tied down to the roof rack and sheets of building material in the back. It was the great American car.

The wagon evolved through these best of times like a loyal friend. From the tin lizzies, to the woodies that wore jackets of real wood, to the behemoths with hundreds of pounds of gleaming chrome, to the fins from outer space, to the huge, growling V8's that freed the soul of all those that drove them. And then.......they were gone. Shoved aside in the name of progress never to return. A sad statement for the wagon. And for the times.

But, the wagons were built tough. They hung on. All they ask of us is a little care. Those of us that remember the best of times, or who want to experience them, seek that dirty, rusty wagon in the field and pull it home. We search for parts, spend our hard earned money, put in hours upon hours of hard work to bring this winking star of history back to the beauty of its glory days. And it reciprocates with a heartfelt feeling that fills us like none other.

When I walk up to my wagon, look at its beauty, touch it, I swear, it's like it's alive and knows I'm there. It smiles with appreciation and I can feel its loyalty. When I turn the key and hear the soft rumble of power it's's like that dog you had that was your best friend that smiled and wagged its tail with love and affection, his only mission in life was to please you. It's like that. I sit there inside and hear the blub of the dual exhaust and the purr of the engine just waiting to please. Drop it in gear and it responds with anticipation and I drive sealed in that space of time gone by.

The station wagon means more to me than a car or a purveyor of people. When I drive my wagon it happily responds to my every wish , my every desire. It gives back all that I put in and much, much more. It cradles me in a cocoon on a ride through yesteryear. And every ride I take in this beauty from another era I realize that it is the only thing I know that can, and does, give me back what I miss the most. The best of times.

/r/AskReddit Thread