What about that Miata?

For years my dream car was a Miata. The money my father and stepmother gave me for my 50th birthday – the gift that got this crazy quest going – was called the "Miata Fund."

So how'd this turn into a Mustang project?

The answer begins with Brenda and, by implication, our two kids, Ben and Leanna. (They're all pictured here with my father during a vacation last year in Philly.)

Brenda is my wife, and ours is a marriage that will have lasted – as of August – 25 years.

We are a study in opposites. I'm a word person, she does life by the numbers. I'm impulsive, she's steady as she goes. I think in the moment, she's been planning for retirement since ... well, probably since childhood.

And 98 percent of the time, it works. I'm the engine, she's the rudder; together we get places. (The other 2 percent, she's sputtering and I'm trying to stay out of her sight.)

Many of my crazy ideas, Brenda slows down long enough so that even I see their foolishness. Others she tolerates. A few she embraces.

To my surprise, she liked the idea of the Miata Fund from the beginning. And when I suggested spending it now (remember, I'm the impulsive one) on a project car, she didn't say no. Her dad was a backyard mechanic, and a good one, so the idea of restoring a car makes sense to her.

But she did say this: A Miata? It's got two seats. We're a family of four. You're going to leave two of us behind every time you go somewhere in your dream car?

I had to admit, this made a certain amount of sense. (No surprise there, either; remember, she's the sensible one.) So did the reaction of Kevin, a friend at work who's a Chevy guy: Think American, he said. There are more candidate cars out there, parts are much easier to find and ... they're American, for crying out loud.

Okay.

But if a Miata, or a Triumph, or an MG wasn't the car, what was?

Pop! That was the sound of a Mustang popping into my head.

Ford sold its first Mustangs on April 17, 1964, two days after my seventh birthday. They were an immediate cultural phenomenon – Beatles with wheels. Though I was nine years short of my license, and being raised in a Volkswagen van family, I knew a cool car when I saw one. And 40 years later, my pulse still quickens at the sight.

There you have it: a Mustang. A pony car for me, four seats for Brenda.

That's our marriage in action.