While cruising down the highway on the Connecticut shoreline this summer, a teenage boy in a souped-up Honda drove up next to me in my 1976 911S and blew me a kiss. I smiled, knowing it was the car, not me, who was the object of his desire.

Quirky things like that happen often when I get behind the wheel of my nearly 40-year-old Porsche, whom I affectionately call "Smokey" (named for an incident in which smoke inexplicably poured out of the dashboard after I turned on the headlights one night.)

People are fascinated with classic cars, and there's something about a vintage 911 that makes them do a double take. Smokey, who is far from a perfect specimen, draws a lot of attention and helps me forge connections with people I otherwise never would have encountered. The 911 is a conversation starter and has connected me with people in unexpected and memorable ways.

One day I stopped at a pizza place for lunch, and this pock-faced guy in his 20s checked out my car, walking around it like a lion stalking its prey. He peered through the windows, his hand shielding his eyes to keep out the sun glare. He longingly asked me all kinds of questions like how long had I owned it (a few years) and what it was worth (less than a new one).

Another customer at the lunch counter listened in and revealed he had his own fleet of vintage cars at home. I know how they feel. I also get excited when I see other people's old Porsches and seize the opportunity to talk to the owners if possible.

Not too long ago, I brought Smokey to a speed shop for some minor work. I was slightly self-conscious because the place specializes in high-end performance upgrades for much newer, much faster and much more valuable sports cars, while Smokey is more of a vintage work-in-progress type of model. My fears were allayed when the mechanic saw me walk in and divulged, "I love air-cooled vehicles," and proceeded to install my stress bar on the spot.

Classic Porsche ownership has also brought me closer to my dad. When I was a kid, he coached my softball team and was involved in several other activities with me. But then I went away to college and later moved to another state, which put distance in our relationship. What better way to reconnect with a loved one than a shared love of classic cars?

My father owns a 1981 911 Targa (the European edition), and he gave me Smokey four years ago. We've gotten together for several PCA events, both in New York and Connecticut, and are planning on a joint trip to the 2016 Porsche Parade in Jay Peak, Vermont.

During our weekly phone calls one of us inevitably asks, "Did you get the Porsche out this week?" Our last conversation was all about his newly installed ignition and starter and my quest to locate the right oil cooler.

Then there's the conversation I never had but wish I did. Up until a few months ago, there was a red '80s-era 911 parked in the yard of a rundown house a few miles from my home. It sat there, uncovered, for years (even in winter). Who owned it? Why wasn't it in a garage? Did it run? Was it for sale?

Then one day it was gone. I missed seeing it on my daily drive to work, but I was hopeful it had been adopted by an enthusiast.

Taking your vintage Porsche out for a drive is like walking a puppy in public. People get all googly-eyed and ask all kinds of questions. And I'm OK with that.