Love At First Drive

At the start of my driving career in February of 1994, I purchased what my parents and my budget allowed: a big, safe car.

As an inexpensive automobile, it was definitely not pretty. This 1970 Ford Fairlane had its original avocado green paint, small wheels and low suspension. While my sophomore year in high school rolled by, my old clunker gradually turned cherry red, acquired chrome wheels and was raised by a few inches in the back end, giving it the new name, “The Beast.”

That same year, the chaos in the Central Valley High School parking lot caused the hood to wrinkle and the grille to shatter. As the perfection of my car decreased, so did my ego. Even though my transportation was no longer ding-free, I still never had to depend on anyone else to drive me where I needed to go. Whether it was work, or going to my softball games, or off shopping with the girls, I could still say “I’ll drive,” anytime. This freedom is the thing I love most about my huge, gas-guzzling, fastmoving car.

Recently, my spirits were raised for a time when I replaced my bashed-in hood with a no-dent white one. Then came the matching paint to make everything beautiful again. Here’s where they say “Pride cometh before the fall.” While driving around town I was involved in yet another fenderbender. Now comes the ultimate decision; My heart says keep The Beast and fix it, but my pocketbook may say move on and look for another.