Farewell, Old Friend

I graduated college with a degree in art education. Among other things, this meant that my last semester at school would not be spent at the University but rather at area public schools student teaching. And for this I would need a car.

The summer before my senior year, I began the search for my first vehicle. My dad, whose love of big boy toys I’ve already documented, helped in the search.

It was a cold and rainy day as we traipsed from car lot to car lot. Dad was determined to get me a reliable vehicle. I wanted something that I’d be able to transport my friends in. Dad thought this would be an insurance risk. He wanted me to think seriously about a new car (one with a warranty). I was dead-set against accumulating any car debt. One thing we could agree on. Neither of us liked “cookie-cutter” cars. We both wanted something that was a little different.

So after purchasing some raincoats, we decided to take our car search away from the lots and into the classifieds. It was there we found my car. Or I should say my SUV. A Chevy Blazer to be exact. From that day on – the day after we began the search – that car has been part of my family. And over the weekend, we said a final farewell.

Less than 24 hours after listing it on an online car website, we had sold my Blazer to the second person who called about it. A car salesman as far as we could tell. Someone who I strongly feel will simply strip my car down and use it for parts.

And so, although I willingly sold my car and it may not meet a very dignified end, I would like to say a few parting words:

• You were my first car.

• You represented freedom and independence – a way to escape or to bring along friends, depending on my mood.

• I drove you coast to coast in one year (three separate trips) and cross-country three times.

• You carried me and my friends to Zion’s National Park and to NYC and Washington, DC.

• You were the car Alexander and I rode in on our first date.

• I first kissed Alexander in a parking lot standing in front of you.

• We drove you to the beach the night Alexander proposed to me.

• We drove you to the airport to catch our plane the weekend we got married.

• You came with us on our honeymoon.

• I rode to work in you for three years.

• You’ve moved me to four different homes.

• You’ve carried me to the hospital to deliver two children and then carried those children home again.

But, in the end, you are just a thing. And it’s not healthy to get too attached to things.

So when you became less reliable, when you began to require (expensive) maintenance every two months, when we got a new, bigger model, we decided it was time to say good-bye to you. Not very sentimental, I know. But what I would like to say in the end is “thank you.”

Thank you for being the catalyst for so many wonderful memories. Thank you for taking me on my first big on-my-own adventure. And for waiting patiently in airport parking while I promised to never be on-my-own again.

And, after all is said and done, thank you for providing us (finally) with a little discretionary money.