Our Connection to Cars: What does it Reveal about Our Lives?
We had an unexpected reaction to selling the family car.
“Where’s the Yukon?” one of our sons asked, coming into the kitchen, tossing keys into the drawer and heading for the fridge.
“Dad just took it. He’s trading it in,” I said, continuing to peel a potato.
The fridge door slammed shut.
“Whaaat? No more Yukon?”
Two of our other kids rushed into the kitchen.
“I thought we were selling it in a year or this winter or something. Not now. We didn’t get to ride in it one more time,” one of them said.
“But we still use it for vacations,” another protested. “How are we going to fit all of our stuff?”
They were all staring at me. Our three middle kids. All teenagers, all in high school.
I took a logical approach and reminded them that our family’s needs had changed. They were more independent now. The 7 of us rarely went places altogether anymore. The car mostly sat in the driveway but still needed registration and insurance.
“We have so many memories in that car. It’s not going to be the same. That was our family car.” Someone summed it up in one swooping statement.
Not going to be the same…
That’s what all this fuss was really about. A time in life that had passed.
An image of something I’d witnessed a hundred times flashed in my mind. Them, little, clambering into the car after school. Backpacks, lunch boxes, sweatshirts. All talking over one another about the days’ events.
“I know. I’m kinda sad too,” I admitted. “I loved that car. I’m going to miss those days,” I said.
Our heartfelt response made me wonder… What do cars really mean to us?
For most, cars are essential to daily functioning. But, they’re more than a way to get from point A to point B. They add dimension to life experiences and reflect our individuality. Ride, safety, towing capabilities… the features are endless.
Our SUV was huge, comfortable, and high-sitting. Sorta like a luxury version of a Partridge Family bus.
It will always represent the years of navigating a busy life with young kids. Goldfish crumbs wedged in between the seats. Watching movies on the oversized DVD player mounted to the ceiling and sharing seatbelts with cousins visiting for the weekend. Giving rides to teammates. Loading up bikes, duffle bags, and our dogs and heading up to the mountains. Tracking sand in after a day at the beach.
When you think about the cars you’ve owned, images and emotions start to surface. What mattered to you back then, the music you listened to, who you spent time with...
Not to sound cliché, but cars can take us for a ride down Memory Lane. They’re a little window into the way our lives have unfolded over the years. Milestones, the good times, and the hurdles too.
My first car was covered in spiderwebs but FREE.
It was a blue 5-speed stick-shift Volkswagen hatchback, which had been sitting at my great grandfather’s property for decades. My older brother and cousins turned it down when they got their licenses. It was mine for the taking. Completely free.
Free was a big factor.
I got all the spiderwebs out and washed it, expecting some sparkle. I hung a strawberry-scented air freshener on the rearview mirror. I put a sticker on the back window and filled the tiny glove compartment with Chapstick and gum. The paint was still dole and it still smelled old and stuffy. But it was all mine.
Dad did some Dad-things to the engine, oil and tires.
Mom took me out in the country for lessons on driving stick.
And voila! It was ready to drive.
My newfound freedom was exhilarating.
The car that Dad insisted on was affordable, practical, and reliable.
A year later, I’d saved enough money to buy a car. One of the regular customers who came into the store where I worked drove a 1965 convertible red Mustang with chrome bumpers. Every time I saw it, my heart skipped a beat. I was determined to get something like it.
Dad had other plans. “You need something reliable you can take to college. Classic cars constantly need work. Look at how much time your brother spends on his Camaro and the money he spends on parts.”
He grabbed a section of the newspaper and pointed at two cars. “The dealerships are having Labor Day sales next weekend. You can get the Toyota or the Honda.”
My glamorous vision of a shiny Mustang was totally crushed. But I didn’t want to get stuck on the side of the road three hours away from home.
I chose the Toyota. It was practical but not dazzling. A couple of paychecks later, I had a simple stereo system installed and added fluffy seat covers.
It lasted through college and graduate school with no issues, and then my neighbor bought it for his daughter who had just turned 16.
Dad was right. Reliability trumped style.
One car became my home away from home.
I was spending long days on the road driving from one job site to the next with gaps of time in between. My four-door Honda morphed into an office, cafeteria and siesta lounge.
I’d walk out to a big parking lot after conducting a training session and see it waiting for me, usually parked in the shade. Morning sickness was taking me on a roller coaster ride of hunger, nausea and fatigue. All I wanted to do was go home and rest.
I’d sit in my car with stacks of papers spread out, a pen in my hand, and snacks from home. When I wasn’t working, I read a book or napped.
That car was a nurturing, comfortable space when I needed one.
There was even a car that felt like an episode of Fear Factor.
We had a little Honda CRV when the kids started driving. It was a simple car. No blind spots, easy to handle. Perfect for new drivers.
Before I actually became the passenger of teenage drivers, I had rosy images of the whole experience. There I’d be, calm and patient. I’d give a tip or instruction, and they’d execute it with care.
Reality did not measure up, though. I was like a restless coach pacing the sidelines. Normal things turned into possible dangers- parking lots, turn lanes, people riding bicycles. My right foot kept stepping on an invisible foot petal.
And then came something scarier- them licensed and driving away by themselves.
The kids said I was exaggerating, and I decided they were right…a mom’s mind can conjure up some pretty ridiculous things. By the third new driver, I was more relaxed.
Milestones were reached in this car that caused a shift in our family lifestyle. Independent kids meant we were all going in different directions, spending less time altogether.
And now, I’m driving a car that is fun and fast.
“What do you want?” My husband asked last year when we were talking about getting a new car for me.
I had no idea what I wanted. All my other cars had been chosen because they met certain needs. Size, affordability, gas mileage…
What were my needs now? I had a couple, but in general, I was open to considering possibilities.
I ended up with an Audi. It has a mature feel to it. Or maybe I just feel mature in it given the current stage of life. I love this car. I find myself a little giddy when I drive it. Which is how I imagined myself feeling all those years ago when I wanted a Mustang.
It actually stays clean. There are no fingerprints on the windows or mud from little tennis shoes. Those days are long gone.
The first week I drove it, I kept glancing at the speedometer thinking I was in normal range only to discover I absolutely was not.
Last week, I was behind a harvester, a smaller tractor and an SUV that had no intention of maneuvering around the ag vehicles. Without hesitation, I zoomed past all three, giving a friendly wave as I did.
So, I guess I’m getting used to the engine capabilities and a stage in my life with fewer restrictions.
What do your cars say about you?
I know you could answer “not much” to that question, as if cars are a mere mode of transportation totally void of sentimentality.
But that wouldn’t be entirely true.
Because memories come to us when we think about a car we used to drive in. We’re reminded of the unique journey we’ve had throughout our lives. How we’ve grown, how our needs have changed. How our lives have evolved.
Sometimes it’s good to take a trip down Memory Lane.
