In 2008 I had the opportunity to buy a 1993 Mazda RX-7 R1, bone stock, one owner, 24,000 miles. $12,995. Acquiring it would have also necessitated a loan to a 19 year old college student with $200 to his name that no bank would back, so imagine my surprise that my father was completely, 100% willing to loan me the money if I said so.

So long as I dropped out of college.

He held firm on his condition despite any counter-offer I came up with. Hours of frantic, emotionally-charged, increasingly desperate pleading fell upon my father’s wisely, selectively deaf ears, interjecting only to highlight the flaws in each of my alternate proposals. He leaned back in his seat, took a sip of his drink, looked me in the eyes and asked me if I was truly willing to give up my one and only shot for the future for a single car.

Ten years later I still don’t have my RX-7. But since then I’ve earned both my Bachelor’s and Master’s degrees, and I am closer than ever to not only buying the FD3S of my dreams, but putting it in a garage with room for an NSX too.

Fathers, man. They always know.