My car has had several issues this week, and in order to process it all and relieve a little stress my sister encouraged me to write a memoir of sorts of my car. I don’t have a special name for it, but for the longest time my family simply referred to it as “the white car” (as opposed to the red car which belonged to my sister and the gray car belonging to my brother).
I have been driving this car for 8 years, since right before my 16th birthday. I used it to take the driver’s test to get my licence, which took place in the thriving metropolis of Pierce, Nebraska. It was a great little car because it had lots of zip and the heat and AC worked great (this seemed particularly impressive at the time I guess to compared to other vehicles we had).
I have put a lot of miles on that car since my 16th birthday. I was the first kid in the family to start driving so I got to shuttle siblings to church activities, baseball practice, and all kinds of things.
I remember packing up my things to head off the day after I graduated from high school to go to staff training at Timberlake Ranch Camp. I drove back and forth every weekend so I could spend that time with my family.
Then I packed up the car again for my freshmen year of college. My car saw a lot of miles through the 4 years driving back and forth to Northwestern. Since I was one of the few of my friends who had a car I got to be the chauffeur on many occasions which was great. Through the years we made trips to Lifelight, Sioux City for bridesmaids dress shopping, wing outings, and countless Walmart runs.
And now my car has served me faithfully (well, up until last fall) in Texas. Even with the various issues over the last 9 months or so I am still grateful for my little white car and being able to get to school and back and all the other places I need to go. I’m not sure how much more the white car can take, but I’m grateful for the past 8 years. Considering the car is almost as old as I am, it has lasted quite well.