I was 17 when my grandpa passed away, and I still vividly remember that day. I had just returned from school when my mom, who usually worked night shifts and had little time to spend with us, gathered me and my two sisters. Her serious demeanor made me realize something was amiss.
She took a deep breath before delivering the news: Grandpa had died at 82. Thankfully, he hadn’t suffered, and he remained active until the end. His passion for vintage cars, which he shared with me by taking me to car shows, sparked my own love for engines. His influence was so profound that I eventually became an engineer.
Although Grandpa couldn’t afford an extensive collection of vintage cars like some of his friends, he had one car that he meticulously cleaned and maintained every weekend. My mom would drop me off to help him, and though I thought it was just about us bonding, it turned out to be more convenient for her.
Those weekends were some of my happiest memories. Whether it was knocking over the oil can or accidentally scratching the Chevy Bel Air’s red paint, every moment was filled with fun. I cherished helping Grandpa, especially because he’d fill the ashtray with candy, since he didn’t smoke. I’d eagerly grab a handful before we started working. My sisters, however, preferred to spend time with our cousins and never shared my enthusiasm for helping Grandpa.
When I learned of Grandpa’s passing, I was devastated. He was my closest friend, even through my teenage years. I ran to my room and stayed there the rest of the evening. The next morning, still in my pajamas and not going to school, I found the family giving me the cold shoulder. I thought they were upset with me, so I apologized to my sisters, but they just walked away. Feeling isolated, I turned to my mom for answers.
“Honey, you need to understand that your sisters might be a bit jealous. If you hadn’t stormed off, you’d have heard that Grandpa left you the Chevy.”
I was stunned. Grandpa’s Chevy? He never let anyone else have it. I couldn’t even drive yet.
“Don’t get too excited. You’re acting like a vulture. I’ve decided that you won’t inherit it.”
I was in shock. The day was turning out to be overwhelming, and I hadn’t even had breakfast.
“You can’t drive yet. If you had taken your driving test last year like I told you, I might have let you keep the car. But I’ve decided to sell it and divide the money between you, your sisters, and your cousins. It’s only fair.”
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