New Car Disorder

There are few material things in this life that I thoroughly, completely love. One of them, though, is a brand new car. In fact, you might say that I have a bit of a New Car Disorder. And of course, like all good sons do, I blame my disorder completely on my parents.

The first car I remember my parents having was a 1965 Barracuda. It had red vinyl interior, with a strange kind of push button gear changer that was on the dash, left of the steering wheel. Once when I was three, I was standing on the hood of the car, using the radio antennae as a microphone, singing my heart out. I jumped off of it to go inside the house, but I fell and sliced my head open on a pile of jagged bricks sitting next to the car. Next thing I knew, I was sitting in the front seat of the Barracuda holding a towel on my head as my mom rushed me to the doctor's office. I can show you the scar if you ask nicely.

We traded in the Barracuda when I was four for a used Ford pickup to assist us in our move to Kayenta, Arizona. During that trip our cat Mitzi had kittens in the backseat with me sitting next to her, speechlessly watching. Ironically, a few months later, we hauled that same Mitzi off into the middle of Monument Valley and left her there. Because she kept pooping on my pillow. Every day.

The Ford kept breaking down, (I remember hearing the words universal joint and transmission a lot) so when I was five my parents purchased the one and only brand new vehicle they were ever to own: The Green Bitch. This 1973 Dodge clubcab truck provided me with so many, many memories, some good, some horrific. But I won't repeat them all here, as I have already devoted a whole blog to that truck. But follow this link if you just really want to read it again, or if you never got to read that one. I promise, it will be worth your time.

When I was in the third grade my parents decided they needed a second car. They must have loved their first Barracuda, because they bought another one. Yes, another Barracuda. Only this one was dark blue, it has a "three on the tree" standard transmission, and it had been salvaged, with the body being welded to the bottom part (what's the bottom part called anyway? You know --the one with the wheels?) on crookedly. When you followed it down the street it looked like it was always partly turned to the right. That car spent most of the time broken down, in the carport, beginning a disturbing trend.

After that, The Green Bitch began breaking down on a weekly basis. It was broken down more than it was functioning. I remember being stranded on many occasions in a freezing parking lot or stuck at home because the truck wouldn't start. So many times we'd pile in the truck and I'd close my eyes and say a silent prayer, "Please, Heavenly Father, let our truck start, please, oh please, oh please, I really need to go to Fred Meyer to buy Olivia Newton John's Totally Hot record." Oh, the fear and frustration!

So my parents decided to buy another used car, for cheap. It was my Uncle Don's blue Impala station wagon that he had driven back and forth to and from Honduras. Honduras. And he didn't want it anymore. Anyone who knows my Uncle Don would know that for him to not want a car anymore, it had to be bad. But it was cheap and it was currently functioning, and I was actually excited because it hadn't begun rusting through yet.

This way, with two cars, instead of having one broken down vehicle, we would have two. It made perfect sense. It was about this time that I made myself my first solemn promise:
.

Solemn Promise #1

I would never own a car that wasn't 100% dependable.

We spent the next few years in a vicious cycle. One car would break down, so it would sit in the carport collecting dust and providing shelter to feral cats, while the other one hobbled along, threatening to break down, too. When it finally did, my dad would try to determine which one would be cheaper to fix, and then get that one fixed. But the days were few and far between that they both worked.

During this time they both deteriorated aesthetically as well. Harsh Utah winters and open carports do not make a good pair. That and the fact that the first time The Green Bitch had ever been washed was when it and Katrine were ten years old. Come to think of it that was the first time Katrine had ever been washed, as well. I jest. The rust spots grew and began eating completely through the steel. You were scarcely able to see through the windows due to grubby kid hand prints and dirt. Both had dents and scratches galore. In a word, they were hideous.
That is when I made solemn promise #2.
.

Solemn Promise #2

I would never own a car that was beat up and junky.

When I was 18 I went away to college. My family remained in this cycle until I went on my mission to Peru. I knew untold trauma was certainly taking place in the delicate psyches of my five younger siblings. But I felt relieved to be out of the ongoing car debacle.

I returned to a gently used luxury Oldsmobile. What had made my parents decide on this car? I don't recall, but I remember driving that car, feeling the smoothness of the seats and admiring this beauty of the exterior, with high hopes that it wouldn't break down for a long time to come. I drove around listening to Sinead O'Connor's Nothing Compares 2U and Madonna's Vogue experiencing something I had never experienced in an automobile that belonged to my family: Lack of fear and lack of shame. That is when I made solemn promise #3.
.

Solemn Promise #3

I would own brand new cars. And when they didn't feel brand new any more, I would get another one. Regardless of the lack of financial wisdom that it may entail.

Fast forward a few years, and here are the stats:
Since I bought my own first car when I was 21 (eight years ago) I have owned or c0-owned the following:

Hyundai Excel (not brand new)
Volkswagen Jetta (not brand new)
Nissan Altima (brand new)
Nissan Quest (brand new)
Mazda RX-7 (not brand new)
Geo Metro (brand new)
Another Volkswagen Jetta (brand new)
Volkswagen Passat (brand new)
Another Volkswagen Passat (brand new)

And yes, my latest, a Lexus IS (brand new)

Hi, baby, Daddy's here.


Looking at the stats, over a span of 18 years that makes a new car less than every two years. Does this mean I have a problem? Maybe it does, but I'll tell ya, my cars always start when I need them to, and I don't have to mess around with them or worry about breaking down. Plus I don't feel the need to duck every time I see someone I know as I'm driving--it seems I spent half of my formative years ducking down in cars.

I'm feeling the need to defend myself here. America, you be the judge. Am I a victim? Or am I just far more materialistic than I'd like to admit?