Dad’s first car was a convertible.  A 1932 Model A Ford convertible.  He remembers that all right.  He had seven convertibles in all, the last one sold by my mother’s father shortly after my parents married.  My mother had beautiful hair, and that was what ended the convertible days for Dad.  She was more important.

Each time we ride without the top, he tells me again and again that he missed the convertible for those forty years, but he would do it all again for that beautiful hair.

Sometimes when you live with someone with dementia, the repeating of stories drives you crazy. 

That one, he can repeat a million times.