Cars

My brother, Darrell, bought his son--my nephew Kyle--a car yesterday. Kyle turned 16 in August, and Darrell was chomping at the bit to get him a car. I didn't realize that it was such a big deal to him. Like my desire to fund our children's college education, Darrell told me that he was saving for this day. "I remember when I had my first car," he said to me, "the freedom I had. I want that for Kyle." Darrell's first car was an orange Pinto. Think the car the Nazi's drove in "The Blues Brothers" movie. That's the exact car. But, if I recall correctly, Darrell had his car first; before the movie came out. Not the other way around.

This got me thinking about the cars I've had in my life. My parent's gave me my first car too. It was a maroon Ford Escort. The car belonged to my mother, so their offering was not only an opportunity to have the last driver of the house equipped with something, but it allowed them to upgrade. I had the car from my sophomore year of high school through my sophomore year of college at Loyola. It afforded me a lot of freedom, as Darrell said. In college, I was one of the few kids who had a car on campus. Parking was always a pain in the ass, but it was nice to have a car, if only for the purpose of being the guy with a car. I made the beer keg runs, I was the one who people bummed rides from to go home for the weekend, I was the guy who offered freedom to others.

My dad got me my second car too. An old, beat-up orange Nissan Sentra. He got that for me my senior year of college. I had a summer job as a phone operator at the Hyatt in Lincolnwood, an internship teaching English as a Second Language, also in Lincolnwood, and I had a job on the weekends working at Wiener Take All #2 in Des Plaines, and Tonaly's in Bensenville. The Escort was on its last limb, so my dad picked up something that would get me from "point A to point B," as they say. The Sentra was a piece of crap, but it managed to get me through the year. I had a few problems with it. The radio didn't work, so I kept a boom box with me when I wanted to listen to music. To start the car, I had to open the hood and tap the engine with a wrench. Nearly every time. I locked my keys in the car once, so I had to smash the back window to get in. Cardboard as a window is not the best idea in the dead of winter in Chicago.

Before I left for Arizona, my dad bought me a graduation present. Another car. This time, it was a white Ford Tempo. The used car lot he got the car is near the airport, where he worked. It's still there now. The Tempo was just as bad as the Escort finally got, and the Sentra always was. We really had no idea. Until we drove it across country. I had to drive the car with the heat on several times to avoid overheating. It needed a water pump and some other things when I finally landed at my home in Mesa. The car cost around $2,000, but with the extra repairs, it was more like $3,500. My brother spent more than that on the car for his son. He said that even with the auto industry being in shambles, prices for used cars stink. The Tempo lasted a year and a half, until I replaced it with my very first new car: a silver Nissa Sentra. The only amenity the car had when I bought it was air conditioning. No radio (I was used to that), no auto windows or locks. But it was mine; I paid for it.

I get Darrell's point of wanting to buy Kyle a car. Given my first three cars were gifts from my parents, I should feel the same way. But I don't. In fact, I think kids should wait until they are 18 before they get their driver's license, or at a minimum, not be allowed the full freedom which comes with having a license. The extra two years means a lot in my opinion. Cyndi got into a car accident shortly after she got her license. I hear that a lot from people.

My opinion may change in the next seven years, but I doubt it. I will always have fond memories of my first three cars, but to me, that's all they really are. Cars. Things. I never named my cars. I never did any work on any of my cars. I didn't really care about them. They were a means to an end. And in the end, I'd much rather spend my money on something else.