Car nostalgia

The purchase of my new car has got me a bit nostalgic about past cars I’ve owned, going back now about 16 years. Prior to my 16th birthday, my parents enrolled me in a defensive driving school near our house, and made sure that I knew the rules of the road. I spent time practicing with my mom, my step dad, and my older sister.


My mom was adamant that I learn how to drive a manual transmission, despite the fact that nearly everyone we knew drove automatics and even the driving school taught with automatic cars. She was convinced that one day I would end up at someone’s house who was convulsing and dying, and I’d have to rescue them in the only car available, which would (of course due to murphy’s law) be a manual transmission. At first, she thought it would be a good idea for me to learn on her brand new Honda Accord, so we drove it to the parking lot of my high school on a deserted weekend afternoon, and she had me take the wheel. The thing they don’t really tell you when you’re starting out driving, is that new cars with new manual transmissions are very tricky. Finding the sweet spot for shifting is a bit of an art, if not an attempt to drive you insane. After grinding the gears on my mom’s car for the 20th time and becoming pissed at her need to grip the door handles and interior like I was taking a sledge hammer to her car, I told her that the jig was up. There was no need for me to drive a manual transmission. We could just go home in peace, and never speak of this again. My mom was never one to let me out of anything easily, even if my every attempt to shift made a small part of her die inside, so she responded that I was going to learn how to drive her car or else. So, I did what any unbalanced 16 year old girl would do by shoving it into first and flooring it. I never drove her car again, and it’s just as well.

Ultimately, the driving lessons continued with my step dad’s and my sister’s vehicles, where I could safely grind gears without instilling a heart attack in my passengers. In fact, my sister’s truck was a bit of a broke down Mitsubishi mess, and starting from a stop light in first gear was entirely optional, as it happily started in whatever gear I’d last left it in. My step dad’s truck was a very nicely used model, and I was able to master the driving lessons with it without much fanfare. I’d never pegged my step dad as patient about much of anything before, so it was a nice surprise to learn that he was really great to go out with for driving practice.

As my 16th birthday approached, my mom decided to set some expectations with me about the possibility of a car. Though my two older sisters had gotten cars for their 16th birthdays, it just wasn’t in the cards for me, she hesitatingly told me. They just couldn’t afford it. I was sad, but understood, and she told me that they’d work out a way for me to use my step dad’s truck when I needed it.

The morning of my birthday, I was at Camp Woskowitcz with friends from my German class at school. We’d gone to a weekend German camp event, and were busy dawdling our way back home totally unaware that I had a surprise birthday party waiting for me back home. I got home to find all my friends hanging out and I immediately regretted passing up a shower in the sketchy camp shower in lieu of taking a long bath when I got home. We settled in for the celebration, and when I opened my gifts, my parents card was the last to be brought out. When I opened it, a key fell to the floor and it said that if I wanted to exercise my right to drive, I should go immediately to the door and open it. I expected my step dad’s truck, but what I found outside was a cherry red Chevy Camaro with a huge gold bow on it and my name printed on a banner. Though I don’t remember the exact year any longer, I think it was a mid-80s model and it screamed cool. I literally had a few of my friends crying and moaning that their parents were so lame to not get them such a car. To put it in perspective, my friend, A., was driving around in an ancient avocado green Oldsmobile inherited from her grandma and another friend, N., was driving her mom’s Lincoln (I think) when her mom wasn’t using the car.

It turned out that my step dad thought I was a pretty good kid, got great grades, and caused little trouble, so he decided I should get a great car. He found the Camaro, got a storage unit, and started fixing it up for me without telling my mom about it until three days before my birthday. He didn’t want her to accidently spill the beans.

I quickly dubbed my car Georgio Roman Armani (I know, I know), and as soon as I got my license I looked for any excuse to drive. Need milk? I’m on it. Something needs to go the post office? I’m your girl… I started driving to school and taking my friends to and from home, and we had a blast playing mix tapes and singing at the top of our lungs. That car was so much fun to drive, and it was fast. The real problem came when we realized it was a bit of a lemon. I had it in the shop several times for problems that turned out to be repeat offenders. Over time, the babysitting money and my income from the hair salon dwindled and my college fund was getting pretty depleted. I was loathe to admit it, but I needed a new car before I was broke, so I talked to my dad about it and asked whether we could trade it in for a reliable little Honda or something. At that point, I didn’t even care what it was as long as it wasn’t breaking down and costing me a small fortune.

One day, he took the keys to the Georgio and said he’d take it to get it checked out. When he got home, he tossed my key ring at me, but there was a strange new key on it. I bolted upright and ran to the door to find a red and black Eagle Talon. I ran around in joy. It was about 6 years old, but in overall really great condition and it had a Turbo button. You can bet I had a blast with that car, too. I never named the Talon, in part because Georgio and my friend’s car, Penelope, seemed to have so many problems that we thought naming might be bad juju.

The Talon lasted me through college and the first year out of school and in the real world. I was working as a teaching assistant at a local community college, and my new husband was trying to make ends meet before he started graduate school. Due to increasing maintenance costs, we decided to bite the bullet and get a new car. I found the Toyota ECHO in 2001, and bought it after one test drive. The only option on it is air conditioning, but it’s been the best little car for economy, room, and reliability. Maintenance is cheap. I literally get the oil changed a few times a year at ~$30 a pop, and have had the major services done as needed. It goes forever on one tank of gas. We got the four-door ECHO, since we thought we might have a family at some point and having the back doors would be handy. Of course, we all know that story never panned out, but I love the ECHO anyway since it was the first car I was ever able to buy for myself. It’s been through a lot of moves, and seen a few dings, but it was well worth the $14K I spent on it and then some, even if it’s not the most gutsy thing I’ve ever owned.

Which brings us to my 2011 MINI Cooper S Clubman. That is going to be one heck of a fun car. I feel like it kind of marries two sides of my personality: the side that is practical and responds to function, and the side that just wants to have a good, fun, fast ride and appreciates great design.