My car is on its last legs. Or wheels. Whatever. It’s a hunk of junk and it’s finally starting to act like it. My 1986 Toyota Corolla refuses to start. But I keep driving it. See, as long as there’s a hill to park on I can get the beast rolling down the incline and pop it into second gear and sputter to my destination. Steve’s beater of a pick-up truck is also slowly giving up the ghost. Luckily we have something waiting in the wings: a 1989 Chrysler New Yorker. It used to belong to my grandparents before they sold it to my parents for $2, who in turn sold it to us for the same price. It’s been mellowing in our carport for the past two years for such a time as this. We knew it was only a matter of time before our wrecks quit running on us, and I’m thankful to know we’ve got a back up plan. Be it a homely, portly, grandpa-mobile of a back up plan, it’s a plan nonetheless. Driving in the New Yorker is like coasting down the road on a chesterfield. The seats are plush and comfortable and velvety, the dashboard is all digital, and there is AIR CONDITIONING! I know people will do a double take when they see a 24 year-old instead of an 84 year-old driving such a vehicle, but hey, it’s paid for and I don’t mind. Well, mabye a little. See, all of our friends have really nice cars: new minivans, brand new coupes, and sweet trucks. Sometimes it’s hard not to want to keep up with the Joneses. But for the most part I am more than content. Right now our financial priorties are paying down our mortgage and buying slurpees. A new(ish) car may come later, or it may not. I’m OK with either outcome.
As a child and teenager I was lucky enough to have my parents model an invaluable lesson before me: how to live within one’s means. We drove the most hideous cars a kid could dream of, and yes, sometimes I would lower my head in shame as our 63 foot-long 1972 Oldsmobile pulled up into the parking lot of my high school, leaving a trail of chunks of the roof that were flaking off in the wind. But looking back I am so thankful for the sacrifices my parents made and how they refused to live their lives in all-consuming debt. Now their house is paid off, they drive a sweet 1993 Volvo and have a bit of extra cash for luxuries like European tours and showering their first grandchild with LOTS OF PRESENTS.
My baby will be riding in style in our New Yorker and I hope that when she’s a teenager and I come to pick her up from school in a wood-panelled station wagon from 1976 she will be only momentarily embarassed then be able to laugh it off, hop in, and be thankful for all the blessings she has.
19 Comments
Really good post Amanda.
First of all, I really don’t think your New Yorker is that bad. Seriously- A/C and plush seats- what more could you ask for!
So many people don’t live within their means, partly because of the whole “keeping up with the Joneses” thing. I’m glad your priorities are straight. :)
I used to have a pontiac that you had to put in neutral, push backkwards, and then turn the key to start. Good times.
I will share your pain as I drive the Camaro every day, I too will refuse to hang my head in shame
How lucky to have a car waiting for you for back up! Sweet deal to have that ace in the hole!
Mortage and Slurpees. Glad you got that straight.
Also, I didn’t know that KB is going to be the first grandchild. I see a mighty spoiling in her future!
You crack me up girl. And, come on 63 feet long.?? How you exagerate. I know that those cars were no longer than 50 feet. Hee.Glad to hear you have your priorities right. Slurpees are a must.
It sure is hard not buying new stuff just because everyone else has it, but really, who else in your town has a vintage driveable couch?
Everyone watching you drive by wonders, “Where can I get myself one of those uber-stylin’ cushion mobiles?”
Like Travis and I say about our GOLD 1994 Nissan Maxima — some people have to wait 65 years to drive a car like this — we must be ahead of our time!!
:)
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