Bad Children and Cars
I’m not really sure of how to begin this topic. I’m far more lucid today, however. The one thing at the back of my mind is my house. I remember the day I bought the house, I felt as if I aged 20 years in a matter of minutes. Talks of equity, mortgages, warranty deeds, property taxes, were perplexing and dull. A few people thought I was crazy for buying a home in a city that I didn’t live in at the time. But the house pays off.
Which brings me to ask, what’s the big idea with people who drive cars that are more expensive than their homes? Never understood it. Why would you drive a $30k car and live in a shack or government housing? American materialism at its best. But I’m getting too “holier than thou.” As soon I got my first paycheck, I purchased a used Ford Escort from a distant cousin for 500 bucks. (I still owe him 50). I had no insurance, no license, and no idea of how to drive. Mama, in her good sense, yelled at me for a few days and warned me that if she caught me in that car “You may as well drive into a tree.” Which, prophetically, my sisters did by accident a few years later. None of those things mattered anyway. I drove the car three, maybe four, times before it died completely. We put it on the side of the house, where it stayed until after I graduated from high school. I remember sitting in that hunk of junk listening to the radio, wishing against all reality that the engine would turn over, and I would ride past my friends’ houses. It never turned over. Eventually, the younger kids started playing “racecar driver,” “doctor,” and “superman” (a kid would jump from the roof of the house to the roof of the car) with old dusty. How in the hell did we not get killed with the games we played? We had some broken bones here and there, but superman? No wonder my mom forced us in the house all the time. This one time (not at band camp), I jumped over a huge drainage ditch on my bike and had a perfect landing. It is still one of my finest moments to date.
Even now, I refuse to buy used cars. It can have a mere 500 miles on it and I will not buy it. But my car will never be more expensive than my house. You see how I tried to tie that in at the last minute? It was just and afterthought, but it seemed to flow well.
Which brings me to ask, what’s the big idea with people who drive cars that are more expensive than their homes? Never understood it. Why would you drive a $30k car and live in a shack or government housing? American materialism at its best. But I’m getting too “holier than thou.” As soon I got my first paycheck, I purchased a used Ford Escort from a distant cousin for 500 bucks. (I still owe him 50). I had no insurance, no license, and no idea of how to drive. Mama, in her good sense, yelled at me for a few days and warned me that if she caught me in that car “You may as well drive into a tree.” Which, prophetically, my sisters did by accident a few years later. None of those things mattered anyway. I drove the car three, maybe four, times before it died completely. We put it on the side of the house, where it stayed until after I graduated from high school. I remember sitting in that hunk of junk listening to the radio, wishing against all reality that the engine would turn over, and I would ride past my friends’ houses. It never turned over. Eventually, the younger kids started playing “racecar driver,” “doctor,” and “superman” (a kid would jump from the roof of the house to the roof of the car) with old dusty. How in the hell did we not get killed with the games we played? We had some broken bones here and there, but superman? No wonder my mom forced us in the house all the time. This one time (not at band camp), I jumped over a huge drainage ditch on my bike and had a perfect landing. It is still one of my finest moments to date.
Even now, I refuse to buy used cars. It can have a mere 500 miles on it and I will not buy it. But my car will never be more expensive than my house. You see how I tried to tie that in at the last minute? It was just and afterthought, but it seemed to flow well.
posted by lc at
9:37 AM
1 Comments:
My first broken bone(and consequently my first three) happened jumping a ditch. I was about 6 and broke my elbow on landing. I broke it twice more before I could get the cast off. I was a rough little kid.
It was on a USED bicycle I got for my birthday by the way!
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Adam, at 10:38 AM
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