Betty Sharp, OWP 1998
Betty Sharp
Oregon Writing Project 98
University of Oregon
Assignment # 1
"So mom, are you really going to buy a new car?"
"Well, I don't have much choice. The shop quoted me a seven hundred dollar repair job and I know I'll need new brakes soon. I put a thousand into the Sable last summer and I can't keep throwing money at it."
The inquisition which followed included all of the hope, anticipation, and excitement that can be experienced by a fifteen-year-old with a driver's permit on the verge of a major family decision which would surely either ensure fame, fortune, and life-long happiness or guaranteed shunning. Knowing that I have a child with a mind like a steele trap and not wanting to get caught, I remained non-committal, assuring her that I was "keeping my options open" and "exploring the possibilities". Neither of these two reasurassences were particularly encouraging to her teenage fantasies of sporty spoilers, racy roadsters, or sassy sunroofs.
I could see the wheels turning in her mind. Over the next few days, the questions began to reveal themselves. All of her choices were listed, including options. Did I want a sunroof? No. How about a CD player? Probably not, since I own no CD's. How about a Jeep? No. Hopefully not a minivan? No. Well, then, what did I want? It's pretty weird that someone was going to buy a car and that person didn't even know what kind they were going to buy. Well, I knew I wanted a smaller car after driving a full-sized station wagon for almost a decade, and I wanted something with a bit of comfort, maybe leather. OK, now we're getting somewhere. It could possibly be a new black Toyota Camry with a spoiler, right? Well, I was thinking about Camrys, and planning to test drive one, but that was only one option.
My daughter visits with a friend every summer, one year going to see Emily in Texas and on alternate years we receive Emily in our home. As much as Elisabeth was looking forward to this annual visit, there was a black spot on the event: she would be gone during the critical period of time when the new car would be selected and she would thus have reduced lobbying power. The decision which would affect her ability to win friends and influence people would be in the hands of her middle-aged, dorky, prude parents. She decides to go to Dallas anyway, but with some concerns on her mind.
I drive Elisabeth to Portland and wish her bon voyage. The conversation on our drive up included a careful critique of the many different automobiles on the road, who has what, what options are noteworthy, and drawing my attention to the wide variety of spoilers. My occasional inattentivenness is met with veiled annoyance.
My husband and I spend the weekend test driving cars, comparing prices and features and doing all the things one has to do in order to make that car decision. We decide on a Buick Regal with all the bells and whistles. My memory is jogged and I remember a recent comment made by my daughter as we were driving through our neighborhood and she saw an elderly couple passing by in their Buick. "Have you ever noticed that old geezers always drive Buicks?" The observation would be repeated several times as she mentally researches what people drive in America. "Yep, there's some more old geezes in their Buick." It's nice to know that there are some things in life upon which one can depend.
Well, we purchase the car and I go up to Portland to pick her up. As we are making the long trek out past the construction and to the parking lot, she interrogates me and I feel as though I'm walking with the Gestapo. I carefully avoid saying the "B" word, however and we approach the car. I had parked it a little overcautiously and the rear end was sticking out a little more than necessary, drawing attention to itself in the airport parking lot of hundreds of other cars. "It's not that big white boat, is it?" she says accusingly. "Yes," I reply, " it's a Buick."
I thought she was going to either faint on the spot or opt to walk home rather than ride with grandma in the ol' geez mobile. This normally so calm and logical child got so upset that tears came to her eyes as she informed me that she didn't like it, but that it was my money, my decision, and my car, and that I work so hard that I deserve to have the car that I choose and why should I be concerned about her wishes. She was just the kid.
Well, to make a long story short, my fifteen year old slowly began to accept the fact that we didn't buy a sportscar or even a two-door. She's decided that her life will go on even though her parents bought a Buick, this transition being assisted, I'm sure, by the fact that she saw the same exact car given away as a groovy prize on the Price Is Right. I'd also like to think, however, that she's growing up and beginning to recognize that perceptions are just that - points of view, and that we all don't always see eye to eye.