For a moment, his eyes filled.
Rosa continued.
"We heard you were helping the students. A few people wanted to contribute."
Isaiah took a slow breath.
Then nodded.
"Thank you."
Rosa looked toward the yellow Mustang.
"It's a beautiful car."
He smiled.
"Thanks."
She paused.
Then added quietly.
"And it belongs exactly where its owner chooses to keep it."
Isaiah laughed.
This time, the words felt different.
Not like a declaration made during an argument.
But like an ordinary truth that no longer needed defending.
Later that afternoon, the program director invited Isaiah to speak briefly with the students.
He stood beside the Mustang while a group of teenagers gathered around.
Sophie sat on a folding chair near the display table, proudly holding a photograph of her grandfather.
Isaiah began by explaining how the restoration started.
He described the rusted body.
The damaged engine.
The endless search for suitable replacement parts.
And the disagreements he had with Harold about paint colors.
The students laughed when he explained the yellow paint and black racing stripes.
Then he became serious.
"My father taught me something while we were working on this car."
The group quieted.
Isaiah looked toward the Mustang.
"He taught me that you can't fix a complicated problem by pretending the damaged parts aren't there."
He paused.
"You have to understand what went wrong, make a plan, and do the work properly."
A teenage girl raised her hand.
"Was there ever a point when you wanted to quit?"
Isaiah smiled sadly.
"More than once."
Several students laughed.
He continued.
"Sometimes we'd spend an entire weekend trying to solve one problem. Then we'd discover something else was wrong."
He looked toward the photograph of Harold.
"But my father always said that a difficult project doesn't become impossible just because it takes longer than you expected."
For a moment, Isaiah's voice trembled.
Then he finished.
"Find people who are willing to teach you. Learn to ask questions. And don't let somebody convince you that your work doesn't matter because they don't understand it."
The students applauded.
Isaiah smiled.
He'd never considered himself an inspirational speaker.
He was an engineer who loved an old car.
But looking at those young faces, he understood why his father spent so much time teaching him.
Knowledge became more valuable when someone else had the chance to use it.
That evening, Isaiah returned home with the Mustang.
He parked carefully inside the garage and turned off the engine.