What Drives You?

Think literally here, friends.

I am getting a new car. (Well, new to me. It’s a 2019. I’m a teacher, remember?)

When I passed my driving test and got my license, I did not get a car. My parents both had vehicles, and had regular enough schedules that I could borrow one when needed. My dad was driving a 1987 Mitsubishi Raider at that time, and when I tell you I loved that car, I am not exaggerating. It resembled my actual dream vehicle — a Jeep Wrangler — in its boxy frame and rugged cuteness. It was easy to park, and I sat up high enough to see over other cars in a turn lane. There were only two of our make and model in town, so it was easy for my friends to spot me in, say, the parking lot of the Frontier Cake & Steak. It also had an instrument on the dash that looked a lot like a compass, but it was basically a level — because that car was so boxy and sat so high that there was a real chance of tipping over if you took a corner too sharply.

My mom primarily drove a bright red minivan at that moment in time. While I preferred the Raider, there were certain advantages to the minivan. First of all, I could fit a LOT of friends in it. We’re talking seat belts for 7… so you know, probably 10. (Just kidding, Mom!) Also, it was a minivan. Not exactly a magnet for law enforcement attention. Just ask my friend Sacheen: she rode shotgun on several road trips with me, and I was a bit of a speed demon in those days. I did end up in the ditch once, but that was ice, not speed, and Jack’s dad hauled us out. My parents were none the wiser… up until a couple of years ago. Actually, my mom probably forgot I told her about it and is now finding out about it for the first time (again). Sorry, Mom!

I bummed rides all through college, but eventually I graduated and ended up in a job where I needed to get home in the wee hours of the morning. My parents agreed to help me pay for a car of my own, and found me a white 1992 Plymouth Alliance, which I named “Daphne.” It wasn’t a flashy vehicle by any means, but oh — I was so proud of it. It is hard to overstate the feeling of independence and self-sufficiency that comes with car-ownership… even if it was mostly paid for by your parents. Unfortunately, the Plymouth died fairly quickly, and dramatically: it stranded my just-out-of-knee-surgery mother and me at a gas station 90 minutes from home, at 8:00 at night. We were allowed to loiter there by some kind-hearted employees, with my mom’s post-surgical leg propped up on cases of Diet Coke until my dad was able to come rescue us.

After that disaster, it was decided by my parents (and probably grandparents) that I should lease a new car. I decided on a Saturn, being a post-Macalester, pro-labor union sort. Signing the lease (with my mother as co-signer, since I had zero credit) was a thrilling experience, and I got the whole singing-clapping send off, which was hilarious. I popped my roommate’s Neil Diamond cassette into the tape deck, and immediately christened my new ride, “Rosie.” She was the first of three Saturns I owned… and then I got pregnant. (Those facts are not directly related, Mom.)

Like many parents-to-be, Dan and I decided that we should become minivan people. We were thorough, searching online to find every single dealership in the metro area selling a used minivan, printing out the listings and planning out an extremely long day of test-driving. We pulled into the last dealership on our list, both of us dragging and discouraged, my pregnant self starting to get snappish. There were two vans to test drive at that location: we really liked the first one we drove, which felt great. As we were driving the second van… they sold the first one. Dan still talks about it, to be honest; we couldn’t believe it.

Though we were reeling a bit from the loss of a near-perfect vehicle, the second van we drove was good and solid and we liked it. I named her “Minnie.” Full name: “Minnie Van Loeffler.” You’re welcome. She transported both kids home from the hospital, she hauled a lot of lumber, she was a dependable tank right up until the day we traded her in (“gave her away”) at 275,000 miles. She was a beast and I still miss her a little bit.

We have come to the time in our parenthood when our oldest is 17 and needs transportation. Dan drives a company vehicle, so we are currently sharing one car between us. It isn’t a sustainable situation already, and she’ll be starting college next year. I’m struggling a bit for several reasons: some financial, but some that are harder to define. On the one hand, it’s just a car. Most of us have gone through a ton of them. On the other hand, it’s a car. It’s a symbol of adulthood, of liberty, of self-determination. Besides a house, a car is arguably the most majorly impactful purchase a person can make.

Plus, you know, you have to name it.

Thanks for reading.

Love, Susie