My First Car

I remember getting my first car, I suppose everyone remembers that day. It was Mothers Day weekend. I was 17 years old and a junior in high school. My grandma had decided to get a new car, so my dad purchased her car for me.

The car was already seven years old, but it was a cute two door Pontiac. Even more important, the car was mine. No longer did I have to drive my mom's humongous Expedition. It had heated leather seats and a moon roof. I was so proud of that car.

Today I'm still cruising in my Pontiac. It's gained thousands of miles and a few dings. Funny story about one of those dings: in high school my dad backed into my car and asked me when I had hit a car. I panicked, but after a few minutes he let me know what had happened. I still have an imprint of his trailer hitch in my front bumper.

Some of my friends got brand new cars in high school. Even now as my friends and I get older a lot more are getting new cars. It's what is expected after all. But what about me?

The leather is coming apart, it rains inside, the speakers don't work when it rains, and the windows roll up when they feel like it. Oh and a couple months ago I had some siding fall off in my driveway. But it's still MY car.

You see, my car may be falling apart but I own it. Not the bank and not some dealership. I'm not paying interest on a new car. I'm too stubborn for that.

Sure that guy over there who has the Mercedes Benz looks approximately 1,000 times cooler than me, but we have something in common. Four wheels that get us from point A to point B. So even though sometimes I'm embarrassed, I think I'll keep my trusty rusty until death do us fall a part.

Here's to old cars and memories.