Goodbye to My Very First Car

Friends decorated my truck for my 17th bithday, a year after I first brought it home.

This is the 2012 version. Tori forgot to put the emergency brake on a few years ago and  it crashed into a wall.

Although I'm embarrassed by it now, I talked my parents into buying me a car when I turned 16.  It took many, many months of persuasion but in the end I'm not sure whether they believed my argument that the old Volkswagen Rabbit was unsafe (it does seem like a death trap when I look back on it) or if I just wore them down.  Either way, the Rabbit that was good enough for my three preceding siblings was not good enough for me and I talked them into a much "safer" model (much to the irritation of my sister!).

My dad said I could use this vehicle from age 16 to 18 and it was being purchased for their convenience only (so they wouldn't have to drive me around).  They made it clear that I had no rights to ownership.

My dad pored over Auto Traders and decided he wanted to buy a small pick-up truck.  He was determined it would be a manual transmission because, for whatever reason, he didn't want any child of his to go through life not knowing how to drive a stick shift.

He found a 1992 Toyota pickup truck with 9,000 miles that was listed for $6500 (this was in 1993) and he scheduled a time to see the car.  Before we left I remember him calling to tell them he intended to buy the car and asking what their lowest price would be so he could bring the cash with him.  They told him $6000.  I still don't understand that negotiation strategy: I'm going to buy this car so tell me what your lowest price is.  Anyway, it worked for him.

I was excited about this little white pickup truck and thought it was very cool -- 100 times cooler than the Rabbit, which rattled like crazy and had many other not-so-endearing traits.  My dad paid them for the truck and he drove it home while I followed in a different car (I didn't know how to drive a stick at that point).

The next day I had a track meet about 45 minutes away and my dad made me drive the truck there, which he said was "baptism by fire."  When I was getting off the freeway I downshifted from fifth to second gear and I thought the car was going to explode.  That was the only time my dad looked really concerned.

That was the first weekend I had my truck, and it's been a great and very special car that has seen me through many adventures, accidents, and travels.  I say "my" truck because my parents are softies and they didn't really stick to their guns about the truck not belonging to me, though I didn't drive it for many years while I was in the Peace Corps and living in San Francisco.

For the past four years, Tori's brother Hank has driven the truck as part of his pay package for being our nanny.  He was always asking if he could buy it from us, and we finally gave in and sold it to him for 80 babysitting hours.  So this great truck I've had since I was 16 years old is mine no more -- he finally finished all his hours last week.

It's a bit worse for the wear (see the before and after photos above), but I do feel sad to let go of this great truck!