Last night, after a dinner at one of our favorite restuarants with a great waiter and excellent food, we went to Target to return something and get something else that we could enjoy together. Like a movie or...?
Halfway through the store, I started really locking up in my back, and I went and got one of the granny carts, the electric carts with the basket on the front that cruises at a stately 1.4 miles per hour. Now, I hate those things. They make you feel "special," in the short schoolbus kind of way. They come in different models, the Crawler, the Wheezer, and, my personal favorite, the Humiliator X3000. And I thought that driving a smoke blue 79 Pontiac Sunbird in college was bad.
I sat down on the cart, my back immediately thanking me and apologizing to me at the same time. I put it in reverse and winced as the safety klaxon came on with it's "beep-beep-beep-beep!" to announce to everyone all the way back in the restrooms that a granny cart was being backed out of the stall. I drove it over to meet my wife at customer service. Pulling up, I saw that my wife was next, followed by a big, burly guy.
Putting on my oversexed persona, I called to her, saying, "Hey, baby...wanna ride on my luuuuuv machine?" My wife glared at me.
"Sure, honey!" said the guy behind her and he came over to the cart and started to climb into the basket!
"No, no, no, NO!" I waved him off, laughing, "Not you! Please, not you! Her!" I cried, pointing to my wife.
"Oh...right...sorry," said the guy, getting back in line.
Next time, I guess I'll have to be more specific. I don't know if the cart could have held the two of us, but I wasn't too anxious to try.
Driving a cart, an aging Subaru wagon, or an ancient smoke blue Firebird-wannabe, I've found that my identity and pride as a man takes a hit. Guys tend to get wrapped up in the image of their vehicles. As a kid in middle school, I was enamored with the Kawasaki Ninja and other sport bikes. It was fast looking and futuristic. A few years later when the Jeeps began to get popular, my parent's Jeep Cherokee was a source of pride, even if it only had paltry 2.5 liter, 4 cylender engine under the hood. A few years later, the Jeep died a horrible death by blowing it's oil all over the highway and seizing. I was forced to take over my ailing grandmother's Pontiac Sunbird.
Not exactly something that cries "hunk on board," is it? I don't know which is worse, the smoke blue that I owned or this tan color.
I couldn't afford anything else, though. God had me in a position where I had to accept it as my car. I was embarrassed every time I pulled into school, every time I picked up my fiancee, every time I rumbled off the line at a green light with a whuh-chucka-chucka-chucka. Did I enjoy it? No. Did I need it? Yes, I did.
I needed it to help me learn that what I drove didn't need to affect who I was. I could wear a sign that says, "Drives his grandmother's car," or I could still be the person I was. If I let my car dictate who I was, I deserved the label. In the same way, I could let driving the granny cart at Target brand me across the forehead with the word "INVALID," but I won't. I know God has me in this position for a reason and, while I work at getting my back stronger and stable, I need to be willing to ditch the pride and let God tell me who I am. After all, who can tell you more about a car or a soul than its maker?
About 10 years ago, when we were fairly newly married, our car threw a rod through the block. I was in sales and needed a car to do my job. We didn't want to go into debt, and God led us to an older couple who was selling an 84 Ford Fairmont. We payd $250 cash and drove it for 2 years and sold it for $90. The door handle on the inside broke and the window wouldn't roll down, so I had to reach through the back window to open the car door. I finally got rid of it when reverse went out and I had to park somewhere where I could pull all the way through.
The blessing was, this car helped me sell more than any other tool I had. It gave me an opportunity to talk to others about their "clunker cars" (the nickname my children gave it). Incidentally, I called it the "Coooool car". Great memories of God's unique blessings
Wednesday, March 15, 2006 - I Can Relate on the Car Thing (though not on the Granny Cart)
Posted by Scott L
I think I gave up on driving the cool car somewhere back in high school when my '72 Monte Carlo got exchanged for a mid-'70s Plymouth Satelite Sebring (this was back in the day!). Eventually that led to a blue VW bug (great car! which ended up in my brother's possession when I wasn't allowed to take it to college; it died an inglorius death while in he was driving (on our sister's birthday) due to an icy street and an oncoming car - not his fault!). After college I went through a '75 Chevy pickup, which through a rod through the oilpan 10 miles from home, a '80 VW Rabbit (love that German engineering!) with 90K+ on the odomenter (but only $900!), and an '86 Nova (Chevy's Toyota Corrola clone). That one got donated to some social services agency when my wife and I moved to a new city. Now I'm driving what was formerly her prime vehicle, a '92 red Escort wagon that needs shocks, brakes, tires, an exhaust system, and makes noises that I can't even begin to translate into type! Thankfully she has a minivan, but this little red wagon is definately on it's last legs and we're looking 2nd- or 3rd-hand (where are those $250 cars?) since we are far from having the funds to purchase anything newer. For some reason our kids love riding in my car, although it is probably due more to the fact that the oldest can ride in the front seat (no airbags) or they can roll down the windows (why is it they always choose to do that on the really cold days?!) rather than the fact that they get to ride with Dad. It definately can't be because of the inability to hear their favorite radio station (K-LOVE) over the engine noise!!
I start blogging about cars, especially clunkers, and I get all the guys to chip in. This is good!
It's been my experience that if you don't invest at least $1,000 into a used car, it will not make it past 5 years. Either you will tire of it or it will tire of you or both. There are also some lemons out there that go through part after part, especially after the first one goes bad. Under the hood, I like having the alternator accessible because somehow they are the most prone to wear out, and it's not just because I like bright headlights or really loud music, although it might have *something* to do with it.
The most difficult thing is realizing that the Ferrari you dreamed about having in middle school has been replaced by a miracle minivan that doesn't need a new transmission every 60,000 miles. Again, it's about learning humility and trusting God to keep things running.
Wednesday, March 15, 2006 - To Quote Tim, the Tool Man, Taylor...
Posted by Scott L
Cars?! "Huh? AUGGGHHHH AUGGGHHHH AUGGGHHHHH!" (nodding in agreement!).
I miss my old pickup, being able to crawl under the hood into the engine compartment to change the oil! I had to give up on oil changes with the Escort because I couldn't 1) get the front end up on the ramps (angle too steep drive up them & the car would bottom out on the shield under the engine) and 2) got tired of trying to get my hand up in there to get a grip on the oil filter without a 2nd elbow God chose not to add on my forearm!
And I will try to remember that about them wanting the keys in the future. At this point, in the condition the car is in my wife says it's too unsafe to have the kids in there after she drove it a couple of weeks ago. My counterpoint is that you just have to know how to give yourself plenty of stopping distance, or put the transmission into neutral (oh for the days of my manual transmission cars!).
Do you remember that car commercial where the guy is in the health club and someone announces on the P.A., "There's a tan minivan in the parking lot with its lights on." And, no one claims the mini-van because it's uncool. Well, DH gave up his nice Tahoe 3 years ago for a 6 year old (now 9 year old) white mini-van. He told me the other day, "I don't care what people think...I might not have the great vehicle other men have, but I 'm happy with the life we're able to live because we aren't slaves to financial obligations." But, he still has his Porsche911 and Hummer models in his office!
Gotta love those old cars we had to drive in during high school (when you really want to feel cool) and the lean years right after school.
I got my first car in 1987 and it was a '73 Datsun. It didn't even have a model name. Just a Datsun. And to make it worse... it was smurf blue! Everyone effectionately called it, what else, the Smurf Mobile. It had over 300,000 miles on it and I only paid $300 for it. At least I thought it was a bargain.
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