“Long May You Run”

I’ve never cared much about cars; I am happy if they get me where I want to go and I don’t have to worry about the details. I’m amazed by people who can identify the makes and models whizzing by. My husband swoons over the E-type Jag, but in reality our choices have always been purely functional. I admit to a penchant for red, but otherwise pick cars for purpose and price and have stuck with each one until its duty was done.

I bought my first car soon after beginning my first full time job at 21. It was a Toyota Corolla, supposedly silver, but really gray, 4-door so I could easily transport friends and family wherever. I actually considered whether my grandparents would be able to maneuver into a two-door car though I don’t remember taking them for many rides. I desired a red one, but didn’t want to wait long for its arrival. I remember calling the dealership to find out when the shipment would arrive in New Jersey, eagerly anticipating the day when I could drive my vehicle. When I drove it home my Sephardic neighbor threw in some shiny coins for luck.

My first car was the key to my freedom. I was finished with college, working and earning, and living at home like all of my friends but one. I had my own big lavender room downstairs in my parents’ house. My sister and I had shared a tiny room with a miniscule closet and a high riser bed until I was in mid high school. We moved to our own separate rooms downstairs when our tenant left. Although it was a separate apartment with its own entrance, we weren’t permitted to use it; instead we continued to enter and exit through the upstairs front door.

Owning a car made me feel more grown up. It allowed me to dream and plan even if I didn’t go too far. It built up my credit and taught me responsibility since I had to pay my bill on time. It gave me pride and a sense of independence. Before this, I had driven my dad’s car, the blue Chevy Impala that could accommodate endless amounts of people since there were no seat belt rules. Thankfully, the only adventure that went bad was when I drove my sister and friends to Abe Stark ice skating rink in Coney Island during icy weather and scraped the entire right passenger side of the car against the parking lot gate. I nervously called my dad from the pay phone to apologize and ask him what I should do since the side trim was hanging off the car. He was incredibly calm and said since we were already there and ok we should just stay and skate.

I planned a road trip to Montauk in 1982 and took Paula and Alice. Back then there were loads of farms out east. We actually made a wrong turn and ended up lost in potato fields somewhere in the Hamptons. I drove “the girls” upstate for a weekend at Kutscher’s and we were all so busy chatting that I suddenly swerved across the lanes so I wouldn’t miss the exit. I cannot forget this since I still am reminded by those same friends!

The Toyota lasted through early marriage and until our second child was born. It was old and unpredictable and couldn’t fit our stuff and us anymore. It was time to upgrade to a family car, and we bought the Volvo 240 wagon in red. The color, roomy trunk with extra seats and great rear visibility were great features. It was a workhorse that lasted twelve years, accommodating three kids and carpools in its “backy-back” seats. It was the car our eldest son learned to drive. A friend told me I was “very stalk-able” in my red Volvo with only two in the neighborhood. When I drove past its kin we’d acknowledge each other with a wave. I loved my car and the memories we created driving it. Its slow prolonged demise saddened me.

I wanted to replace the Volvo with a newer model but it was too expensive. My husband suggested I check out a Subaru like his. The Forester looked like my Volvo but drove better. This was my first car with luxury items: heated seats, sunroof and roof rack, for enjoyable moving into college dorms and family trips. We apprehensively taught our 2nd and 3rd kids to drive this one, so it only lasted six years. After a huge fender bender, they said our Subaru “felt like a Flintstones car,” shaky and unstable.

Since I loved my car, I didn’t even shop around for a replacement. My husband just went to the dealer and traded up for the updated version. It’s slightly higher, immaculate with a new car smell, but feels like my old one, which makes me happy. I’m nervous about letting our kids drive it, but won’t get away with that for long. I realize that a car is just a thing that I shouldn’t get attached to, but red Subaru II is part of our family and I hope it sees us through safe, happy rides for many years to come.

Contact Miriam Bradman Abrahams at mabraha1@optonline.net