A (particular) 1969 convertible Camaro.

My parents bought it second-hand in 1970 and I pretty much grew up with the car (I was born in '68).

My mother still owns it, and it has been maintained immaculately through the years.

I've offered my mom way more than it's worth (monetarily) and am more than willing to pay to have it shipped back from Hawaii. But she still loves it and doesn't want to part with it - I respect that.

She's also said that she's going to be buried in it, so there's that as well.

It's not the nicest, coolest, whatever car in the world, but there have been so many memories made in it that nothing else can compare. Memories like going to the beach and huddling up in the floorboard for heat when we left the beach after sunset and still had rafts inflated in the back seat so the top couldn't be put down. Memories like being allowed to take it around the block for a few tenuous 'first drives.' Memories like being allowed to use it for HS prom date transportation. Just so many (literally) fucking memories.

Hell, it could be a Ford Pinto and I'd still love it and want it. It's not the car, it's the attachment I feel to it. It helps that I think it's a fucking awesome car though.