Gad the memories. My father and yours clearly went to the same car ownership training classes. In my case, the car was a 2 door 1953 Ford coupe in a faded green (my father insisted that the fading was due to an unsuccessful Ford experimental paint). The Ford had rust. No, correction, the rust was in the general shape of a Ford. Gaping holes in the bumpers and under the doors on both sides. At some point, the body settled, which in turn allowed the passenger's side door to unexpectedly fly open on corners. My father's solution - used a thick dog collar to strap the door frame to the rear pillar. In worked. Except that windows on that side of the car had to be slightly open (to allow room for the dog collar) which meant that when it rained, it would rain on anyone on that side of the car. You also had to enter and exit on the drivers side which always made for a circus clown comedy exit whenever we'd arrive somewhere.

I think my father would have owned the car until he died (or until it just collapsed one day into a pile of rust) were it not for the fact that it would, from time to time, inexplicably stop running. Often on the highway. That scared the bejeezus out of my mother and she insisted on the Ford's burial.

BTW, the car in the icon is very similar to my mother's Rambler, the 'good' car. But that's another story...