We don’t give our cars human names at our house, like some people do.
My wife’s family named their vehicles when she was a kid. Sometimes the name reflected the vehicle’s country of origin, or a certain pluckiness or unusual profile. They had a Volvo they named Bjorn. Bluesette was a blue Volkswagon.
As an adult, I have no such affection. Cars are an expense. They require maintenance, insurance, gas money, and repairs. We drive our cars until the cost of maintaining them is more than they’re worth. It’s a practical matter, not an emotional one. Strictly transactional.
Last year our 2013 SUV began slipping out of gear while driving. Assuming the worst, I brought it to the dealer. Later, a mechanic called me back and tried to share the news as optimistically as he could. All I heard was “It needs a new transmission.”
About a week later, a tow truck dragged it away from the curb right in front of our house. And, that was that.
A month ago we replaced our other car, a 2008 green Nissan Altima. This sporty sedan offered room for five. It had a CD player, airbags, an auxillary port for the kids to plug in their phones so they could play their music.
We drove it to work, our children’s school events, soccer matches, the clinic and holiday gatherings. It gave us about 160,000 miles before it began to overheat. It wasn’t breaking down, but something wasn’t right.
We got the grim diagnosis after taking it to a couple of repair shops–a leaky head gasket.
Fixing it was not an option. I agreed to sell the doomed, yet driveable vehicle for $400 to to a neighbor’s cousin–somebody who knew he could fix it. The buyer said he could put a new engine in it and then use it as a family car or sell it. Fair enough, I thought.
As I cleaned out the glove compartment, I thought about the Altima. All three of the kids learned to drive in this car. We sent it off with our son to college in Indiana for a couple of years. Then our daughter used it for college. About a month ago, our youngest passed his driver’s test. He logged most of his 40+ hours of practice driving in the green car.
There was something about this car that triggered memories. Visiting my parents up north. A trip to Niagara Falls. Graduations. Moving our daughter to a dorm room, then one apartment after another. A first day of work at a new job. We even used the car to haul everything my son needed to fish on a frozen lake. Things like an ice auger, a gear sled, an ice shelter, portable heater, minnow bucket, tip-ups and a sonar unit to find the fish. In the spring and summer, it hauled a canoe, a kayak and bicycles. As I reflected on what this car meant to our family, I began to feel something I don’t normally associate with a car.
Gratitude.
When it was time to complete the sale, the man handed me $400 dollars. I gave him my keys and we shook hands. We stood around and talked about his plans to fix the green car. We were in front of our house. I hoped the car could be as important to this man’s family as it was to ours. That same morning, we used the car one last time. My son and I drove the car to Richfield for an appointment to see his orthodontist. It’s a trip we took dozens of times for all three of the kids. There and back, no problem.
I took a picture of the car with me standing on the passenger’s side, while it was parked on our curb for the last time.
No, the green car didn’t have a name. But it’ll stay parked in our family’s collective memories for a long time.