High School, good times with my Sprite and awkward moments with the prettiest girl on campus                                                                                 By Dave Hamby

              The other day my middle daughter asked me what I was in high school.   At first I didn’t have a clue as to what she was referring to.   She went on to explain to me that at her school, the population is divided into various species like Goths, Preps, Gangsters and such.   I told her I was a car guy.   “Huh?” she asked.   Apparently the car guy species is now extinct, or at least not worthy of her notice.   I tried to explain.   I even told her the story about how I went out with the prettiest, most popular girl in my high school because I had one of the coolest cars on the campus.

              When school started in my Junior year, 1969, I showed up in a bright yellow Austin Healy Sprite that I’d purchased that previous summer.   Now anyone who’s ever owned an English sports car knows it’s not just transportation, it a life style commitment.   That little Sprite was the most reliable car I’ve ever owned.   I could rely on it breaking at least three times a week.

           It’s a good thing I had a part time job at the Conoco gas station on the corner of Ben White and South First Street.   That job not only earned me the money I needed to make the car payments, it offered me the resources necessary to keep my little hot-rod running.

           Becky M., the aforementioned prettiest, most popular girl, noticed my little car right away.   You see, not only was she strikingly good looking, she had a degree of culture that was uncommon in a girl in South Austin at that time.  

           She’d seen “The Graduate”, the movie with Dustin Hoffman driving around in a little red Alfa Romeo convertible and she had an older sibling in college.   She knew that while these little cars were as scarce as a well groomed male on the high school campuses, they were the hot thing on the college campuses.   Not only that, but my little sports car was a shiny bright yellow that complimented her golden locks nicely.

           It was only a few weeks after school started before she cornered me in one of the hallways.  

          “Dave Hamby, is that cuuute little yellow sports car yours?” she asked me.

           It only took a few minutes of fierce blushing before I was able to stammer out a “Y-Y-Yeah.”

          “I sure would look good riding around in a little car like that.   With the top down and the wind blowing through my beautiful blond hair, I   would be quite the sight, don’t you think?” She ended with a smile that could send a hundred hormonally challenged high school males off to war.  

          “Gosh Becky,” I replied sounding like Goofy in a Mickey Mouse cartoon, “You’d look good in nothing, I-I m-mean just about anything at all.”  

           This response caused her to furrow her eyebrows for a moment.   Clearly I wasn’t smart enough to pick up on the fact that she wanted me to take her out on a date.

         “Yes,” she said trying one more time, “You’re right, but I would look realllly good in a sports car like that.”   

           “Gee Becky,” I said , “I guess you’re just out of luck.   I’m the only guy around here with that kind of car and you would never go out with a dufus like me.”  

           Her smile vanished, replaced with a pout that could have gotten me killed if some football player were to pass by and realize that I was responsible for this unhappy face.  

          “Hey stupid! Are you going to ask me out or not?” she asked barely holding back a tear.  

           Suddenly I realized that the belle of our school, the object of hundreds of fellow teenage males wishful dreaming, was asking me out, or at least was asking my car out.

           We set a date for that next Friday night and ended up going to the movies to see “Midnight Cowboy.”   I had the worst time of my life.  

            Becky was charming, bubbly and effusive, but she didn’t know squat about cars.   Worse yet, she wasn’t interested in learning.   Add the fact that she felt compelled to explain to me what was happening in the movie, if you ever saw it you’ll remember that it was a very adult movie, and that I had trouble understanding even after her explanations, and you can imagine how miserable I was.

             I was glad to get her home.  I think she suspected I was like some of Jon Voight’s customers when I didn’t even try to get a kiss.   I can still see the image of her standing there on her parents front porch, eyes closed and lips pouted, as I spun on my heels and dashed to my car.  

         I was anxious to get home and synchronize the carbs on my motor, I noticed while we were driving around that they were out of balance.

           We never went out again, which is just as well.   Had we dated I might have become a popular guy and if that had happened I would have never ended up married to my first wife.   Had we not married, we would never have divorced, and I wouldn’t have met my present wife, who in my opinion is almost perfect.   Not only do I have a great family, she lets me go out in the garage and mess around with my cars as much as I want to.  

You see, I really am a car guy.           

This article originally appeared in the Round Rock Leader