Nobody handed us a manual.
Nobody sat us down and explained what was about to happen to us.
It started before we had words for it.
Something got planted.
For some of us, it was a Hot Wheels car on a bedroom floor.
For others, it was a Matchbox on the carpet — tiny pieces of die-cast dreams that somehow carried the weight of a lifetime.
They came in every shape, every color, every attitude.
And without anyone teaching us — we already knew.
Some looked fast. Some looked mean. Some had lines that felt right before we understood why.
We picked our favorites.
And we protected them.
Away from other dirty paws.
That wasn’t just a preference.
That was the beginning of something that would never let us go.
The sound of the neighbor’s muscle car waking you up every morning with a roar.
Or Dad’s truck — how it purred like a kitten.
He would know if there was one slight misfire.
Some felt nostalgia for an era they never lived in.
An old soul in a young body.
An Indian was already waiting for them in the garage before they were born.
A Harley doesn’t just pass you — it announces itself like punctuation at the end of a sentence only Americans write.
The one you kept reaching for.
The one you would not share.
When we were young, we looked up to them trying to understand.
We didn’t.
But we knew it was cool.
Sometimes the apple just doesn’t fall far from the tree.
Before you know it — someone is looking up at you.
When the pedal finally came — it wasn’t a gas pedal.
A foot pedal, at that.
Had the letters A, M, F on it.
Sure was built like a tank.
And the driver?
One bad son of a gun behind that wheel.
Adults stared in mystery.
How in the world…?
Because what they were seeing wasn’t a child playing.
It was someone driving.
Drifting. 180s. Reverse 180s.
Two pedals. No motor. All commitment.
Nobody taught that.
The body just knew.
Sometimes the instinct gets there long before the machine does.
The screen opened up a whole new world we had never imagined.
A machine with a soul.
Knight Rider didn’t just show us a car that was faster or sleeker than the rest.
It could think, it could speak, it could even drive by itself.
The modifications changed everything.
Suddenly, a car was not limited to what it was.
It could become what someone imagined.
For the first time — a real bond between a human and a machine felt possible.
KITT didn’t just follow orders.
KITT had opinions.
The idea got planted that machines could be more than machines.
That the right car — built right, driven right, loved right — could be something closer to a companion.
Everyone wanted a best friend just like KITT.
One day, off screen, in real life, something happened.
A car launched onto the on-ramp from a standstill.
Faster than anything these eyes had ever tracked.
By the time the brain caught up — it was already gone.
All that remained were two pairs of round red taillights.
Disappearing.
Woaaah.
What was THAT?
And my uncle calmly replied:
“That, son, is a Corvette.”
The car was gone.
But those red lights never left.
A moment lasts three seconds.
A memory lasts a lifetime.