Here in Katie’s Head

My parents always told me they’d never buy me a car. They’d had to buy their own when they were old enough, and so would I.

Actually, as soon as I was old enough to comprehend of the idea that I would one day drive by myself, rather than be chauffeured by my parents, they told me that I would inherit their 1980 Honda Accord. It was brown and boxy, stylish enough when they bought it, and three years older than me. Even then I understood it was doubtful the car would make it to my sixteenth birthday.

They traded it in for their first minivan, a Ford Aerostar, in early 1989. My mother was in the middle of her third pregnancy and realized three crazy little girls would not be willing to be crammed in the back seat of an Accord. Cooties spread too easily in such confines.

But by the time I was in high school, I saw that a car would not come easily.

I was somewhat mistaken.

In high school, Grandpa Lohrenz moved into an assisted-living facility and Mom got his 1992 Grand Marquis. She kept driving the minivan, and when I got my license, I started driving the Grand Marquis. It had astonishingly low mileage and was extremely dependable. She never broke down on the road. I named her Big Blue and drove her regularly for four years.

During my freshman year in college, my parents insisted since the car was not technically mine and I didn’t really need it on campus, I couldn’t have it. I talked them into buying me a moped. I now consider that one of the dumbest things I’ve ever done, especially considering Dad was getting ready to replace his truck. If I’d been willing to learn stick shift and drive a truck with no air conditioning, I could have had four wheels and walls around me — instead of two wheels and bugs flying up my nose.

I put a CD player in the Grand Marquis (you don’t get to (safely) listen to music when you’re driving a moped, you know) and drove it when I was on break and during the summers. I think it rolled over to 50,000 miles last summer.

A few days before this Thanksgiving, Mom left the following message on my voicemail: “Hiii, just wanting to check to see when you’re coming home. We’ve got flowers for your birthday on the dining room table. Oh, and we let your cousin borrow your car” — she NEVER calls it my car except for when something is wrong with it — “and…yesterday-she-totalled-it-in-a-four-car-accident-although-she-wasn’t-hurt-the-car-is-completely-totalled-SORRY-BYEEE!”

So my beloved chariot was dead, pulverized, mangled beyond repair. And I didn’t even get to say goodbye. Interestingly, Dad had just been discussing the idea of trading it in for something for my sisters to drive — and maybe getting me a newish car, too, as part of ongoing negotiations — the week before the accident. As it turns out, the insurance company was generous and he got a surprisingly good payment for it.

The next week, Dad IMed me to announce he’d bought a dark blue 2001 Jetta with power everything, moonroof, CD player, backseats that fold down to access the trunk, low milage and no obvious scratches. He tauntingly described my dream car, exactly (minus the year) the car I’ve dreamt of since before I’d even earned my learners permit.

I informed him that this was my dream car. He responded, “it’s too goooood for youuuuuu.”

He reassured me that there was a teeny bit left in his “buy the girls used cars so we don’t have to drive them around anymore” fund. He’d blown most of it on the Jetta — which Mom told me in IM a few minutes later was now her car, and still too good for me — but he’d seen some car at the new, crappy used lot around the corner that he was thinking about.

And for some reason he was fixated on getting a Saturn.

I’ve never gotten the appeal of Saturns. They’re so, so, so very ordinary. Not a single distinct thing about them. Which makes them cheap but decent, I suppose. Maybe that’s the appeal. Inexpensive and they’ve got all the same features as the cool cars (except that sexy power moonroof), just in a far duller arrangement. No surprises, no oohs and ahhs, just the features you were looking for in a way that make those features seem so much more standard than they seemed when you wrote the list.

That is, of course, exactly the kind of car Dad had in mind for me.

Today he bought a boring, ordinary, completely mediocre silver Saturn L200 for me to drive, and I love it.

Okay, I’m learning to love it. I started things off right by taking her to the car wash on my first drive with her. Now she just needs a name.

Thanks, Daddy.

Posted: Saturday, December 18th, 2004 at 11:22 pm
Category: Consumerism, Family, Memories · Feed: RSS 2.0 · Trackback: URL