A car pulls up to our driveway and stops.
I’m in the living room, just finishing my morning coffee as I happen to look out the window.
The car is red, sleek, low to the ground, with that aerodynamic look designed to make it fast, and it probably cost more than our first house.
My son Nick comes bounding down the stairs, two at a time. He’s late for work and this is his ride.
I glance out the window again to check out the driver. A pair of eyeballs peeks out over the dashboard.
“Who's that?” I ask, pulling at the blinds to get a better look.
“Just Allie. Cool car, huh?” says Nick, then adds with a stab, “Her PARENTS bought it for her...”
I refuse to feel guilty. “Wear your seatbeat,” I warn, then sarcastically add with a smile,“and have a nice day."
Nick rolls his eyes at me and charges out the door.
After he’s gone I look out the window again - at our cars. We have three, all junk. Well, maybe just two are junk. The third is what we refer to as our “good car” because it's the newest of the three, runs most of the time, and the only body work it needs is a new paint job. The other two have dents and bumps and rusted fenders, and the interior of my husband’s car is held together with safety pins and some masking tape.
Lately, Nick has more and more friends with sleek, shiny cars. Most of the cars are red for some reason, too. Nick’s friends laugh at his car. Call it a piece of junk and ask him when he’s going to get a real car (for that matter, they probably ask him when anyone in his family is going to get a real car).
This preoccupation with cars led me to some quiet reflection about vehicles and why we drive what we do. After all, everyone knows our cars make a statement about us. What are our three jalopies saying about this family?
Nick would say our cars tell the world we're either poor or just plain cheap.
I, on the other hand, have a different view of why we don’t worry more about our image. Here’s how I explained it to Nick: “Cars are the basis for many people’s self-esteem. When they drive an expensive, fancy car they feel good. They’re letting the world know they're important and can afford something really sharp.”
“Exactly,” says Nick. “And they look cool!"
“But, you’re missing the point,” I say to him, “LOOKING and BEING are two different things.”
“Well, that’s good, I guess, “ says Nick, “considering what we look like in our crappy cars.”
“That’s the point, exactly,” I continue. “We're as important and cool as that guy in the sleek, fancy Grand Prix or Porsche. In fact, we’re probably healthier than the guy in the Porsche.”
Nick scratches his head. "Huh?"
“Just look at the guy in the Porsche or any other expensive car," I say. "He drives up and everyone looks at his great car. He feels important and good about himself. But, he didn’t feel good on the inside without something on the outside to help him. You, however, don’t need that shiny new car to feel good about yourself.”
Nick rolls his eyes and grins. “So what you’re saying is - anyone who shows up in our pieces of crap must have a really healthy self-image."
“Exactly,” I answer, thinking this kid of mine really is quite smart, though he’s entirely too fond of the word crap. “What would that guy in the Porsche think about himself if he drove up in one of our cars?”
Nick chuckles the way he usually does when he thinks I’ve done something that assures him I’m slightly deranged.
“I don’t know about you, Mom,” he says. “According to you, this family must have the highest self-esteem of anyone on the block. “
“You got it!” I say, patting him on the back. “Now hop in your little coupe and go get us some milk, will you?”
A few minutes later, Nick pulls out of the driveway. His car sounds like tin cans clinking together.
I close the blinds, hoping no one will notice.
"We gotta get at least one new car right away," I mumble aloud to myself, "this family is WAY too healthy.”
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