Relativity

I was walking across a parking lot to my car and stopped to admire a vintage Camaro. I became aware I acquired a cohort, a young man around twenty, plus or minus 10%. “Rad ’67,” he said.

“I think it’s a ’68.”

“Are you sure?”

“Not positive, but it doesn’t have the little vent windows by the outside mirrors. I believe they disappeared in ’68.”

“Wow, you know your antiques.”

“Antiques? It’s a Camaro.”

“Yeah, an antique one.”

If he wants to think so. Wait a minute. Let’s do the math.

The car is over forty years old. When I was his age, what would’ve been the equivalent? A Ford Model A. He was right. The Camaro was an antique.

I drove home feeling a little like one myself.