A friend of mine bought her first car yesterday. It got me thinking about my first car.
My first car. There are no real words to appropriately describe that beast. When that thing rolled out of somebody’s shed it was the most beautiful thing I have ever laid eyes on. It was my freedom. My ticket to get to go anywhere I wanted to at anytime. I didn’t have to wait on anybody to take me anywhere ever again. So, with that said, the car pulled out of the guy’s shed that we bought it from. There it was — a standard Chevrolet Cavalier station wagon. It cost all of $800. And frankly, it wasn’t even worth that at the time. But it was still mine. So I didn’t care.
In the months to follow I realized what I had gotten into. The car dropped a quart of each of power steering fluid and oil a day. I bought that stuff by the case and had to park with cardboard under my car so as not to leave huge oil spots.
The car had a manual transmission. I knew how to drive one, but this beast was so much different. I spent months terrified of stoplights on hills. I knew every route in my hometown that was as flat as possible. Today, almost all my cars have had manual transmissions. I’ve come to love the extra sense of power you get from it. Can’t say I was too thrilled about it with that station wagon though.
I put that station wagon through hell. I drove it to the lake nearly every weekend. It barely made it up hills. But it always did — as long as I started with a run. I ran that car everywhere. It was still running the day I traded it off for something more reliable. And I cried. My first car was gone. To this day I have never felt the same way as I did about that car. The car with no horn. No air condition. No cuteness whatsoever. But it was mine. My freedom.
Any first car stories anybody? Kat since it’s your car I am writing about. I’d LOVE to hear yours!!!