The Start of My Driving History with Cars 

I began writing a blog post about my trip to the Baltic countries this summer, but got sidetracked when I walked to the drugstore a couple of blocks from my house for some much-needed toilet paper and a Starbucks Frappuccino (but I digress…). Situated in front of the store was the stunning vehicle pictured below. In pristine condition, the classic Thunderbird awed folks walking past. I was not the only one who snapped a picture. 

The awesome sight got me thinking about my history with cars. I am not a car fanatic. Growing up in the suburbs, in a household where every dollar counted, a car was simply transportation. I did not care what a car looked like, whether new or used, the make or model. When older I owned a couple of red cars – a Saturn and a PT Cruiser, the closest I came to owning a cool car.

My driving history did not begin well. It started the day I took my driver’s test…

Dad gets out of the car and I slide into the driver’s seat. The examiner/test guy gets into the passenger seat, fills out some paperwork, and asks me a series of questions – my name, address, that sort of stuff. Then he puts the papers on his lap, looks at me, and says, “Start her up!” 

I hesitate a moment, take a deep breath, turn the key in the ignition and…nothing happens. Not a sound, no car movement, only silence in a motionless vehicle. I sigh, take another deep breath, and try the key again. Nothing. 

The test guy reaches over to my side of the car and turns the key. 

Nothing occurred. The car did not make a sound. No grunt, no quiver, no hiss. 

The test guy gets out of the car, walks over to Dad, and the two converse for a couple of minutes. I slink into the passenger seat, angry and depressed. The damn car couldn’t wait another 20 minutes, another couple of miles before breaking down? 

Dad returns to the car and attempts to start it. Again, nothing.  

The car had to be towed off the test lot. 

I rescheduled my driver’s test. 

For the record, the car was an American Motors Rambler. An old one.

That is what happens when money is tight in your family. Sometimes a car works. Sometimes it doesn’t. Shit happens, but life goes on. The first time I took the test for real I flunked. I passed the second time, or third time if you count the day the car refused to start.

Finally, with my driver’s license firmly in hand, a new chapter in my life began. I was 17 and a wider world opened to me. 

I remain interested in cars mainly for transportation. But I can appreciate a beauty like the one sitting in front of a pharmacy in my hometown, awaiting a chance to hit the open road after maneuvering jammed resort streets in a summer beach community.