At 17, I lost my beloved grandfather—my mentor, my best friend. We had shared countless weekends working on his prized 1957 Chevy Bel Air, laughing, learning, and bonding over candy he kept in the ashtray just for me.
After his passing, I was devastated—but nothing hurt more than learning the car wouldn’t be mine, despite him having wanted it so. It was sold, and for years, I carried that heartbreak with me.
Determined to honor his memory, I studied hard, became an engineer, and at 27, tracked down the Chevy. The man who bought it was kind, and after explaining my story, he agreed to sell it back.
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