I bought my first vehicle when I was 19 years old. Until that time, I was gifted a run down, cherry red , 1977 Toyota Corolla which, by all accounts, was one of the most reliable shit box cars I’ve ever owned. Even when windchills hit -40C, and the car wasn’t plugged in, you could encourage that ol’ hunk of junk to start.
At nineteen I had decided it was time to go into debt and picked up a bright white Suzuki Samari. A compact Jeep convertible that looked great and was fun to drive. My love affair with new vehicles lasted 2 years. I washed and vacuumed and polished my investment regularly. When it was broken into the first time, I felt, as most of us do, angry and somewhat violated by the act. By the 5th time, finding it upside down in a mall parking lot, I sold it.
Having a loan for nothing is like paying for a dinner that you never get to eat.
It’s working every single day and knowing that by month’s end, a large portion of your paycheque will be taken away and you won’t anything to show for it. After this life lesson, I never bought another brand new car.
But really, that’s not what I’ve been thinking about.
In 1971 I was 6 years old.
Mom had a Mercury Meteor.
I loved that car. I used to kiss the dashboard when Mum would say ‘Give her some love and hope she starts!’.
We finally brought her down to the mechanic one day and sold her. The car that is.
My father, who didn’t live with us anymore, told my Mum we could have his Cougar.
It was an exceptional car…and I think, now that I’m older (and maybe a little wiser), that it was most definitely… ‘sexy’.
My brother, Mum and I piled into this lime green sex machine, zooming about the residential streets like we were on top of the world; Mum’s ‘kerchief blowing in the breeze with the windows rolled down. She was our Marilyn Monroe. We stopped at a gas station and bought a few candies; Richard got a Dr Pepper and I got a Tahitian Treat. We popped those cans and leaned back against our ‘sexy car’…
What a day.
That. Is a fine memory.