Drive

The other day I was sitting in a meeting and the discussion turned to Dodge Caravan minivans, of all things. It was interesting to hear that these minivans rose in popularity in the early 1980s just when a lot of baby boomers were booming out babies and needed suitable means to transport kids to soccer games, dance recitals, and day care. Apparently, the battleship-behemoth station wagons of their parents wouldn’t do the trick. Now, I haven’t given much thought to my automobile choices over the years until just the other day. I will soon turn 48 years old and am proud to say I have owned only four cars, none of which were minivans. Looking back, the types of cars I had said a lot about my life stages:

It was the spring of 1980. Big hair and loud music were signs of the times. I was a senior in high school and ready to take on the world which was monumental task considering I would have do it from behind the wheel of my mom’s khaki-colored Aspen station wagon. Come to think of it, that car was probably one of the reasons I remained dateless most of my junior and senior year.

One afternoon, my dad and I made our way to used car dealership off Victory Blvd in Portsmouth, Virginia. I can’t recall the name of the place to save me. It was “Clive something” or “Chester whatever.” It had taken up residence in a defunct gas station where the owners hoped that colorful banners and cute antenna decorations would draw you mind away from abandoned the gas pumps. I had amassed a small fortune of $750 dollars to use towards the purchase of a 1975 White Food Mustang II unequipped with power steering, FM radio, or air conditioning. It was the perfect car for a high school senior high on testosterone and low on cash.

It was the car I drove to the prom. The car whose windows I steamed up in fits of teenage passion. The car in which I loaded a stereo, a television, books and clothing as I made way off to college.

I have had upwards of six college friends piled into the car at once on various occasions for late night / post frat party runs to Hardees. How we made it there and back still remains a miracle. It was a perfect car for free-roaming days and the occasional reckless nights. Looking back, I was a mustang behind the wheel of a mustang for well over 100,000 miles. But that changed when I graduated college.

Enter car number two: