Last night we sold my car. I am not a sentimental fool, but after something serves you for so long and you entrust it to one you love, you do feel a weird gratitude for an object. Plus, the memories and travels which seemed to accumulate in twenty years – yes! – twenty years, are almost historical in our world.
The Honda Pilot 2003 is going to a lovely family. They will inherit the tennis ball stuffed in the second row vent, which unbeknownst to me, was engineered by a certain child of the clan. It never could be removed. I have memories of that child and his friend in the backseat attempting this now long-remembered feat. Clue – I only have one son.
This car drove to my daughter’s first “job” and “move.” Both are memories that I treasure because of her. She went through college without personal transportation. I “graciously” donated my wheels to her after her fifth year away from home. I bought a new car and we drove my “old” car to her new job in her college town. My old car returned her home to us.
That car, still in the family, was never in an accident. That car transported my grandchild. That car served us well, did what the manufacturer intended. That car was well-tended in replacement parts and regular service.
I think I’m nostalgic because I wonder if I’m doing what the manufacturer intended? Just a question to consider on a fine weekend in Lent.
Awww, our reliable vehicles become part of our history and family.
Hope the new family loves it too.
They seem so nice and it’s prefect – going to take two teenage boys to school and back!