I remained home, and commuted to college. I received a fine education, made great friends, saved my parents a lot of money. I also met my special husband while I was a student. The commute to school was harsh. It required two buses, and two boros. The commute was time consuming, and exhausting. I would leave early and return late, and then face homework, reading and papers. Sometimes I rode with friends, but that assumed your schedules were the same
My parents bought me a new car. It was small, and could only seat four. This was intentional. You could not fill the car with loud and distracting friends. Only three at a time. It was a 1970 Firebird. It was the most beautiful car I could imagine. It had a small engine to prevent racing. When I pulled into my favorite gas station to fill up ( gas was 24 cents a gallon) all the young mechanics would race to open the hood, and be shocked, and disappointed by the tiny engine. Another example of when size counts.
I didn't care, I loved that car. If this makes me a shallow, materialistic person so be it. I loved owning, driving, cleaning that car. I drove it through college, and it was with me when we married and I moved to suburbia. I was now expecting my second child, I was eight months pregnant.
The car was parked on our driveway. My son was asleep in his room above the garage. We were in our bedroom. A couple, fighting in their own huge car, came around the block, drove between our two trees, and crashed into my car. The car was pushed into my cement steps. It was destroyed. The driver ran. Their car was left running on my lawn. The police and fire department came that night. The driver was found and arrested for drunk driving.
Each person who came into my house that night looked at my stomach and said, what you need is a drink..I am not a social drinker, but I drank that night. I never saw my Firebird again. The next morning my son who was almost five said, I had the best dream, there were policemen, fire engines, and lots of cars. It was so exciting! There were lights, sirens and uniforms. It was the night the car died.
Perspective is all: yours vs. your son's. I had forgotten your car story. My college travel was only two long bus rides within the same borough. So my 2nd-hand car was a gift AFTER graduation, to help me get to Nassau for my first teaching position, without needing a bus LIRR, and taxi each way. The car was faster and cheaper.
ReplyDeleteIn college, when our schedules aligned, my friend often drove me home in her VW Beetle. We wore seatbelts but could touch the windshield with our heads by bending only a little forward. Safety features back then were questionable and the VX was tiny. You felt small breezes and big trucks passing by. It was also MANUAL shift!...small but with the ease of handling of a 2-ton truck.
Your blog made me remember and smile. Thanks.
B.