An Unsuspecting Hero

I have written about many things. My family, my friends, my past, my perspective on life, my pets. I've been serious, I've tried to be light-hearted, I've 'made movies' and linked up some of my favorite songs. I've touched on many topics. But one that is near and dear to my heart has never been written about before. My car.

My car has a history. I buy my cars-that-last from my brother-in-law, who sells cars for a living. From my first request for a car (anything with 4 doors, a radio and reliable enough to take on the highway) ... to my next wish (something just a notch above that old station wagon) ... to my latest car (the best one yet) ... each of these cars has served me well.

I never had that ''oh no'' sensation that a person may get after they buy a lemon of a used car. My cars have always (and I stress the word always) been checked out and mechanically sound. I believe that my sister usually gives the car-of-choice the visual inspection to make sure it has a certain amount of eye appeal before I ever see it.

I bought my last car within a week of my Youngest Son's birth. I had a completely unpractical sporty car that was never intended to transport an infant and a youth. Of course I didn't realize this until after he was home from the hospital. In my early post-partum moments, I realized that I needed a different car.

Thank goodness I have a trusted car salesman for a brother-in-law. It's as easy as this: I pick up the phone, list off what is important to me, he fills in all the blanks, my sister gives the nod of approval, he delivers the car to my door (at least when I have a one week old baby, he did) and I sign the check (after a quick loan approval from my mom).

This car has been amazing.

I have been a stay-near-home-mom ever since the arrival of my Youngest Son and my Newest Car. So my car hasn't been through the rigors of the daily rituals of a working person. But even so ... in all the miles that I have known this car, its uncanny 'homing device' is nothing short of a miracle.

No matter what problem I ran into with this car (not that there have been a lot, but over the course of almost 12 years there are bound to be a few repairs), my car always got me home or to my trusty neighborhood garage.

One time, I was sure I was having transmission problems. I took it to my trusted mechanic ... and found out I needed a computer chip replaced for a minor cost. Another time, it sounded like the bottom was falling out of the front end of my car. And it was yet another minor repair. The car is aging ... and with age, comes the maintenance that is required from the wear and tear of an over 200,000 km car. Every time I had troubles, my car always got me to 'safety' before it became undriveable.

I don't know what kind of warranty I got with this most special car, but I like it! My trusty steed always gets me safely to my destination.

I think my car reads my mind.

This weekend, I had made plans that were way out of my comfort zone. I was to meet up with a friend (and 6 of her friends) at a comedy club down town. We were to meet there at 9:00 pm. I'm usually getting ready to fall asleep by then ... not just winding up for the evening. I had to go alone. Another thing I'm not terribly comfortable with. Parking is an issue in this area and all I could think was "I don't like the idea of walking back to my car alone, late at night". I didn't want to say 'no' to my friend ... so I agreed to go, even though it was against everything that felt right (to me).

I went to hop into my 'trusty steed' to take my Youngest Son to a movie that afternoon. And I had a flat tire. I'm not talking 'low'. I'm saying flat. Like a pancake.

I am so unaccustomed to car troubles that I was immediately paralyzed. I thought "I'm not going anywhere. I have a flat tire." (In truth, I think my car read my mind and knew I was looking for an excuse to stay home). I called my friend and told her I'd have to bail on our plans. I had a flat tire. She assured me that I would be fine to drive downtown on my spare tire. I thought "Change the tire?? ... who would have thought of that!?" I thought I had to wait until my son got home so that he could take my tire in, to get fixed.

Anyway ... My Oldest came to my rescue and changed the tire so that I could get the tire fixed myself. I simply don't trust those spare tires and I knew it would be trouble.

My car didn't disappoint. I backed out of the garage in my lop sided car, with its mini-spare tire. I went to drive forward and the grinding noise made me think the worst. I could have swore that I was driving on the rim of the tire. The noise was unforgiving. I got out and inspected the tire. It was fine. But I knew I wasn't going anywhere in a car that was making that noise.

Enter Middle Son. I quickly explained my car's symptoms (thinking all along "I knew I couldn't drive on that spare!"). He gave an exasperated sigh and told me to back out of the garage and he'd watch what was happening. I knew the trouble started when I went forward. My car obliged and made the noise it had made before. My Son shook his head and said "You've got your emergency brake on." Sure enough. His diagnosis was right.

I had become so paranoid by this point that I got My Son to escort me to the Tire Repair Store by luring him with an invitation to go out for coffee. One more scary lump of snow got my heart racing (I swear that the car didn't make such a big deal about driving over a lump of ice-packed snow when all four tires were the same size!) ... but my car made it to its destination and is now back in working order.

My car reads me like a book. I didn't want to go out Saturday night. It accomodated me. I knew that driving on that mini spare tire was a bad idea. It made just the right amount of noise to assure me I was right on that count too.

But as usual, the repair bill was minor ... and I'm ready to roll this morning.

This car and I have been through a lot together. I knew it deserved a place of honor among the many-things-I-write-about here on this blog. It is one of the family. It may be parked in the garage and neglected from time to time, but when the chips are down ... it's always there for me.

My car. My hero.