A very good blog:
Of Corvettes and Thunderstorms

For the vast majority of my life, my dad and I could hardly stand one another. I had a hard time forgiving him for things that happened in my childhood, and he had a hard time forgiving me for not being a carbon copy of him. But two things always brought us together, no matter how much we resented one another: Corvettes and thunderstorms. In fact, the only happy memories I have of my dad before the age of 30 or so all revolve around Corvettes and thunderstorms.

We used to sit on the back porch anytime a storm rolled through and simply watch the tempest in silence together ─ unless, of course, one of us thought of something to say about a Corvette. I never could identify species of trees the way the old man wanted me to, but I always impressed him with my encyclopedic knowledge of Corvette minutiae. We used to bicker amicably about the best Chevy small block engine. (I always advocated the 327; Pop leaned toward the 396. I was right, of course.) Or sometimes we would assemble our dream 'Vettes out of words and compare them. And woe be to the man or boy who assembled an inconsistent dream 'Vette ─ a '65 with a 427, for example. But as soon as the storms subsided or the Corvette talk came to an end, we would go right back to (as much as it pains me to admit it these days) hating one another again.

Full Article: Dust in a Sunbeam: Of Corvettes and Thunderstorms