Hello and welcome to a frigid yet gorgeous autumn Saturday here at the Wannaskan Almanac. Today is October 3rd and I just discovered my newest roll of toilet paper is scented. Is this a thing or did I accidentally set the TP by my perfume collection? In any case, it smells really good.
Big happenings at our house, folks. And I don't just mean the negative result on the Covid test. I'm talking big, meaning-of-life stuff. Like BIG stuff. We're talking rite of passage quality here.
The Second Oldest, aka the Oldest Son, aka the now oldest kid in the house, soon to turn seventeen, bought his very first car.
Let's just sit with that for a moment.
*sitting*
This is a momentous occasion, not only for him but for us. The Oldest had little interest in driving, let alone owning a vehicle. When she was considering her college options, one of her prerequisites was a campus that wouldn’t require a vehicle. “No way,” she said when I told her that her brother had bought a car “Why would he want a car?”
Her mind went right to responsibility: gas, car insurance, car maintenance, shoveling it out during the winter, jumping dead batteries after you accidentally leave the lights on, replacing a side-view mirror after you hit a deer a deer hits you. But I know my son and he sees only one thing: freedom.
I have sensed his ever-increasing need to be the king of his own kingdom for a while. I see it in the way he juts out his elbows when he struts walks, how he will sleep in the guest bedroom when he isn’t in the mood to tolerate his brother-roommates, the way he carefully selected a lanyard from our junk drawer stash for the spare Subaru Outback key. The way he set up the Outback to accommodate his necessary comforts: ample space for his long legs (relative to mine), his music - Eagles Their Greatest Hits on CD and K-pop on his Bluetooth-synced phone, and a fishing rod and tackle box in the trunk. And lastly, yet very telling, the absence of complaint when I remind him it's his turn to pay for gas (again).
Men are funny about their cars. At least from my female perspective. We already have four vehicles in the driveway, making me wonder if our neighborhood thinks we're running a part-time, used car sales operation. But the reason why men are funny about cars is simple: love.
My husband simply can’t part with his older automotive girlfriends. He has put so much love and faith into these old gals with his God-like powers of resurrecting them from their doomed auto deaths. He has tricked Fate more than once, throwing them a little more spirit with each new car part. I commented recently that hubby's best-loved vehicle, the 1987 VW Jetta, affectionately known as "My Jalopia" must have nine lives, and to date, hubby has saved three of them. "All nine!" he retorted. If she were to give out a tenth time, he’d be there in a jiffy with his wrench.
Before our son left with dad to go check the car out, I said, “Remember, having a car is like having a relationship. It’s not about the good stuff being compatible, but about whether you can live with the bad stuff. So when you look at her, really think about that. Can you live with this girl’s bad qualities?” He nodded soberly enough to make me feel he’d heard my message.
As they headed out, I thought about a book on my shelf called The Lonely Place, Re-visioning Adolescence and the Rite of Passage by Patricia Jamie Lee, a northern Minnesota author from Cass Lake. According to Lee, a rite of passage is a necessary experience that becomes the essential threshold over which a boy crosses from childhood to adulthood. The opportunity for these rites of passage, Lee argues, are becoming fewer and fewer in today's American society. When I read the book a few years ago, I drummed my brain for possible rite of passage experiences. As a mother, of course, I want to see my son step successfully into adulthood. If a boy doesn’t have a rite of passage - some sort of event or experience that clearly demarcates the fork in the road – then does he ever become a man? I suggested a solo trip to the Czech Republic which the boy interpreted as stranding him in Prague for a month to fend for himself.
After test driving the car, thoroughly interviewing the seller, and tallying all of the automotive issues - the CV joint right half axel, serpentine belts, and motor mounts would all need replacing, as well as oil changes, possible tinting removal, tires to be balanced and more possible replacement in a year - our son retrieved the hard-earned cash from his wallet and bought the vehicle. Then father took son to Walmart to purchase tools, oil filters, oil (the good stuff), and many other items I'm sure were valuable and worthy purchases. It was dark when they finally got home. Both of them looked so proud.
Since the "Great Purchase", they have been working together on getting their latest addition to the driveway gang street-ready. They jacked up the car, inspected the engine further, sent the tires for balancing. They huddle at intervals, consulting the car manual while ordering even more parts online. They do the things men do around cars: open the hood, point, squat, peer under the car, rub their chins. Discuss.
How does that credit card commercial go? No, not the “What’s in your wallet?” (In which case mine is empty air and receipts.) But the other one. The one that lists the price of a dinner, a pair of concert tickets, parking fees, spending time with someone you love?
Ah, yes.
Priceless.
On This Day
Remembering You
Kim
ReplyDeleteHonda! Good choice. It’ll run forever (as long as you keep replacing parts).
Yes! Good choice. Definitely remove the tinting.
ReplyDeleteYou speak of cars as a "love" for guys and female in their eyes. I'm here to tell you that women can have the same unreasonable attraction to swish autos and Harley Davidson motorcycles. Even though I drive a pickup truck in my Forest incarnation, I have owned an Oldsmobile 442, a couple of Corvettes, and my last wild fling was a handsome Porsche 911 - the one you wear, not drive. Every one a lover to my racer's soul.
ReplyDeleteDitto for "rites of passage." Not just for the male gender. Every woman at least one, embarrassing or not. Invited or thrust upon. The passage indelible on her psyche and soul. All this a plug for the female hero in every woman. Modern Penelopes don't sit darning socks on a household Ithaca.
Then you say, "They do the things men do around cars: open the hood, point, squat, peer under the car, rub their chins." Ladies, if you have never been under a hoisted car or leaning under a hood, you are missing the equivalent of . . . well, this is a family blog.
Yes, you are so right! Thanks for that reminder!
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