A Car Story

I'm not a car guy. It's not really in my blood. I have friends and relatives by marraige that are, but most of it is lost on me.

My unlce Johnny sold my dad his brown Mercury Capri when I was just old enough to notice what kind of car he was driving. I can remember the exact moment. He pulled out onto a highway pretty hard and the tires screeched and the engine growled. It served more as a second car. In fact, if I recall correctly, my old man was taking me from a family get-together to my baseball game that day. We wore it completely into the ground. I started to learn stick in that baby, and that may have been what ultimately killed it.

My mom's dad has a dark blue Crown Vic. He's had this car forever. Not a specific one, though. He's replaced an old dark blue Crown Victoria with a brand new one at least twice since I've been old enough to notice. I used to find it a little absurd. Lately, I kind of dig the idea. Some guys look forward to getting a new car every couple years. My father-in-law, for instance, is always lusting after some variety of hot rod or new look classic. That seems to be pretty common. A lot of guys view cars like toys. My relationship with cars is more like the kind you have with a hunting dog or a pair of shoes. When they wear out from over use, you know they worked for you, so you might as well replace them strait up.

As a kind of nod to the old Capri, my first and only car is a brown Mercury Sable. Same detailing, stripes and sunroof, as the old one. It's a 2000. It runs good, but it won't last forever. Probably just long enough to teach my 11 year old step son how to drive before giving out. You can bet that I'll replace it with a brown Mercury sedan of some sort. Mildly sporty, sunroof, pinstripes, etc. I figure, If it ain't broke...