September 9, 2010
I love my car. At first I didn’t understand why I loved my previous car a dark green 1992 Lexus LS 400 or why I love my 1997 Buick LeSabre Custom. And then a realization hit. Like every other teenager out there I finally realized why I loved my car so much. Freedom. I didn’t have to say exactly where I was going, who I would be with or what I was doing anymore. My parents were just going to have to suck it up and take what I told them. It couldn’t get that much more wonderful for my 16 through 18 year old self. Then I realized that once college hit I would no longer have my car, which is a very sad thought for a freedom loving, car obsessed 18-year-old fresh out of high school. I really enjoyed that last summer of driving freedom. I drove all over my hometown and even helped my mom drive to Florida that year. Then I learned that driving through Atlanta, Georgia at rush hour was a HORRIBLE thing and that I should have definitely listened to my parents when they told me to drive through Atlanta at like 3:00 am.
As the summer drew to a close and the school year began at times I still missed my Lexus but I survived by taking the Wal-mart bus or bumming a ride off of a friend. Then winter break came about and I had my keys back for three weeks. I drove everywhere yet again and enjoyed every minute of my around town driving. One night I was coming home from a friend’s house. The drive from my friends’ house to my house is maybe ten minutes or less especially at 11:00 pm. I was fiddling with the radio and trying to appease my pet peeve of driving in a silent car when I went off the road and hit four boulders a tree and a road sign, landing maybe 25 feet from the edge of a waterfall that dropped into the river. That, I will have to say was the scariest moment of my life. Apparently a Domino’s pizza guy had seen the incident and stopped with a big flashlight to help me find my glasses and my phone so I could call for help. (I always over tip my Domino’s pizza guys. That man was a blessing.) I called my parents and they helped me get my car out and go home but that was the end of the Lexus.
Now without a car and summer quickly approaching I was very upset. I had ruined my Lexus, a gift from my favorite uncle the year I turned 16 and was now without a way to work or to my friends I was in essence grounded. As the summer went by I was miserable. The ruined Lexus sat in my driveway and taunted me. In August, my two best friends called me up and asked my dad and I to stop by the house. They said they had a surprise for me. I asked my dad to come over with me and as we pulled up I saw a brand new cherry red Cadillac. It was gorgeous. Parked right next to the Cadillac was their dad’s old car a burgundy Buick. Their dad immediately handed the title of the Buick over to me and said, “Here, I know you don’t have a car anymore and I think this should fix your problem.” I was ecstatic.
I still have that car and it is beautiful to me. It has taken me to Dayton and to Youngstown. It is my baby and I spoil it accordingly. So, I love my car. And in all honesty I don’t think it matters what type of car I have. It is more important that it takes me places and frees me from the control that annoys me.