I haven’t written in a while because I have been preparing for a visit from my family.  This happens once in a blue moon so I have to be prepared.  My parents came to visit me and help plan my brother’s upcoming wedding.  Ok, they stopped by on their way to plan the wedding, but they stopped by at a good time because this weekend just happened to be the biggest event of the summer in our neighborhood.  It was the weekend of the classic car show with hundreds of old collector cars rumbling up and down the street.  Starting Sunday morning at 6, the classic cars began piling into the park across the street from our house.  I know this because, apparently, classic cars don’t make use of mufflers or any noise-reducing devices.  (Damn cars!)

 

Although I don’t get the whole idea of collecting old cars and spending hundreds and hundreds of dollars to not drive them, I appreciated the fact that I got to hear my parents re-tell stories of their youth through the context of the car they drove.  As we sat in my front yard watching the cars parade by, I noticed that most of the owners of the cars had been eating off the senior menu for a some time and the license plates of their old cars said something along the lines of being a “kid again.”  When I asked my dad why, he gave me a bit of insight.  He said, “To them, that car represents the best time of their lives.  It was a time when a car meant freedom.  So when they drive the car, they get to relive the best time of their life.” 

 

So, I started to think, when I’m old (a looooong time from now), what will I use to “relive my youth?”  My generation has changed in the fact that a car no longer represents what it did in the past.  It is a given rather than a freedom.  What will I use recapture a piece of my youth?  Will it be classic episodes of Beverly Hills 90210?  Will it be bikes, hiking in the woods, or eating massive amounts of Trans fats?  

 

I’m not sure.  But, I don’t think I can see myself going to a classic car with my kids and tell them stories of cars of my youth.  What would I say?   I could tell them how I learned how cars work and how do diagnose most problems when I owned ’86 VW golf (in 1997).  Or I could tell them the story of how I was once made the biggest mistake of my life with a guy who owned a ‘97 Ford mustang.  Perhaps stories of owning a ’95 Ford Tempo that didn’t drive in reverse would bring me down memory lane.  Perhaps I could tell them a love story of how their father and I drove cross-country in his’97 Ford Escort and he wooed me by introducing me to the practical, money-saving trick of sleeping in the trunk rather than a hotel. 

 

Maybe cars are more important in my life than what I think.  I mean, how else did we get the kids home from the hospital?  Where else did I hold the most meaningful conversations with loved ones?  Some of my best memories include references to the type of car I drove at the time.  So, when I see my ever-so-rare 2004 Toyota Camry at a classic car show in 25 years, I will get a bit nostalgic.  But I can guarantee I sure as hell am not going to buy it again.