The Porsche life started for me when I was four years old, 1975. My first real memory of my father was when he would come home from work, pulling up into the driveway. My sister and I had a routine down of waiting in front of the large bay window to see who could spot the red car first. Many times I would loose because my head was just clearing the window sill. Yet spotting the car was a game I was happy to loose because when my sister would call out that she spotted my Dad‚s red car that meant that soon I would be hugging him as he walked through the door.

One day it was a little different. When my Dad got home this day he waived at my Sister and I calling us out to his car. "Let's go for a ride." He said. Something that had never happened before as we were always reminded that his car was for grown up and that the families wood sided station wagon was for the kids. I remember my eyes lighting up as the Ruby Red Porsches' door was pushed open, allowing/inviting me to come in. My Dad sat there with a grin, holding a wood steering wheel, something that seemed so exotic to me in those days.

My sister allowed me to sit in front (more from the whining clinic I put on then from her shear generosity). Wow, I was in my Dad's car. I felt so much older then my four years because I was in the "grownups car". We drove around my neighborhood with grins that can only be explained as pure childhood delight. I would give everything I own to be able to go back to that moment in time. The picture I have of that day means the world to me.

I was six when my parents divorced and the only thing I can remember from the day when my Dad left was of him driving away in the red Porsche. This is burned into my memory, something that will never leave me.

In 1979 when I was eight I got the call from my Dad telling me that the Porsche had been stolen. Towed out of his garage in broad daylight.

I was speechless and words would not come out.

Why would anyone do something so horrible as to take the one thing that meant so much to me and my Dad?

Did the people that did it understand that this car brought a connection between my Dad and I? Did they understand that when the two of us would zoom through the Oakland hills that we were closer then than ever before. "OK Craig, when you are going this fast remember to accelerate through the turns." At six I would look up at him and smile, "OK Dad." He was a quite man, someone that did not open up with his emotions so to see the smile and the joy that the Porsche gave him made me feel special as well. He had opened up the door to me and had invited me into this hobby that made him so happy. He shared with me his passion and in doing so showed me that he loved me.

Now because someone wanted to make a buck our hobby was gone. The Porsche was gone and so were the drives that meant so much to a young kid and his dad.

Weeks past and I distinctly remember driving down the freeway in my Mom‚s station wagon when I would spot a red Porsche and demand that she help me write down the lincse plate number. Maybe that was our car. Maybe if I could help find it our drives would come back. Each time I would think that I had found it only to be told that it was not "Our" car.

One day my Dad told me that the police mentioned to him that they were sure that whoever stole the car had "chopped" it up to sell off the parts. The thought of that happening to "Our " car crushed me.

When I turned ten my Dad had me for the weekend and told me that we were going to go look at cars. We went to Oakland and drove a white sunroof Porsche. On the drive it just did not feel right. The owner told my Dad the the car was "perfect in everyway" but to him and I it was not perfect because it was not the Ruby Red Porsche that WE used to have. So we thanked the older man and passed on the car.

My Dad never did buy another Porsche. He got into golf for a period, camping and then into sailing. We always would have fun doing whatever it was we were doing but we both knew in our hearts that it was not the same as our days in the Red Porsche.

My Dad died on Fathers Day 2002. I got the call from my Brother telling me that he was involved in a major car accident that instantly killed him. I was in Seattle on a business trip driving at the time and suddenly all I could think about were our drives together and how those days were really, permanently over.

My dad had left me a little money in his will that I had no idea what to do with. Buy a nicer car, invest it, buy a bigger house? None of these options seemed right to me. One day as I sat on my computer rummaging through ebay I thought of my dads 356. Na, ebay wouldn't have one of those I thought. Well, I was dead wrong on that account. When the page came up showing a Ruby Red 1963 B I knew right away that the monies left to me would be going into a new "Our" car.

For the stories sense I wish I could tell you all that the car I bought was perfect in everyway, not needing a thing like that white sunroof coupe. Well...as we all know not all of our dreams come true with silver linings. The car I purchased smoked and leaked oil. Since the engine was not matching I replaced it with one that fits better with the year of the car. I have put money into it yet with each penny, with each engine crank, all I think about is my dad.

Earlier this year my wife and I were told that our son, now four, may have autism. He does not talk and communication in general can be a challenge. With this news and with the cold hard fact that my wife will need to quit her work to support Seamus, I came to the conclusion that I would sell my Porsche to help with the finances of the family. The email I sent to the 356 Registry email list was one of the hardest things I have ever done. At each new paragraph I felt like I was selling one of my children to a hungry mob and when I hit "send" I choked up. Come on Craig, it's only a car...or is it?

I had a few interested parties and one person drove down from LA to take a look at the car. When he walked around "Our" car I felt like I was betraying the very reason why I bought the car in the first place. When he took "Our" car out for the test drive I knew at that moment that this car was not for sale, not now, not ever.

Now, when I take the Porsche out I smile knowing that I will always have this car. My son, though he may not be able to use the words, has a smile from ear to ear when we drive around the block. He shakes with excitement when I tell him that we are going to go in "Red Car". This is now "Our" car and someday it will be his car with his children.

I knew from the day that my sister allowed me to sit up front that I would someday own a Porsche 356. It may not be the car my dad owned but I still have the original keys that he used, a fading picture of me next to the car and all the memories in the world to live on.

Now when my son and I take a turn too quickly I look down with a smile and remind him, "OK Seamus, when you are going this fast remember to accelerate through the turns."