Monday, February 27, 2012

Excuse me, can I buy your car?

Oh, the good ole' days.  I was reminded of this again, and again, and again, and again...well, you get the picture, by my 16 year old Aspergian son during dinner over the weekend.  You see, once he gets hooked onto an idea, he settles into it.  His current thought is driving. What else, he's 16?  He's been asking a lot of questions about my first car and this brought me down memory lane.

My First Car
Don't get me wrong, I love reminiscing but when he gets stuck on what he thinks he's going to unrealistically purchase, the conversation turns awkward.  My kiddo doesn't get it.  William, in his socially autistic mind, feels he can walk up to a stranger's house, make an inadequate cash offer on a truck (which isn't for sale), and the home owner will agree to the deal without a problem.  Or, even more bizarre, allow my kiddo to make payments on it.  My husband and I have told William repeatedly that this isn't how it's done.  We've also told him that when the time comes, which is quite a long way off since he's only saved what we believe to be $100 in his savings account, we'll have him do it the right way.  Of course, then he argues because the only truck he wants is in this particular yard.  There's no winning the argument.  Off the topic I beg you!!  Let me enjoy my billion calorie Red Robin cheeseburger in this horrifically noisy environment in what peace I may!  Where's my Valium?  Will it destroy the taste of my food?  I don't care!  Quick, where's the pretty orange bottle?

What's even sillier about this discussion is that Eric and I have repeatedly told our son that until he can maintain a "C" average grade level in school, there will be no Driver's Education classes, no Driver's Permit, and definitely no getting behind the wheel of dad's truck.  If he can't show us that he's mature enough to hunker down and study, then we're not going allow him to pick up an after school job to pay for gas and insurance.  It all comes with the responsibility.  He's not ready for it - not at all.

It doesn't matter what we've said.  He constantly talks about his dream truck from the mystery man's drive-way while interjecting questions about my first car.  Dammit I drove.  No more Valium for me.  Do I tell him that it was given to me out of high school?  Do I mention that due to my ridiculous decision to cut my schooling in half and attend a broadcasting trade school in Hollywood four major LA freeways from my Long Beach City College campus, dad felt it safer to purchase me a huge used "boat" in case I got into a bumper car collision on my first go-around?  That when he purchased it from a business associate's son, pop wasn't aware that the car had been damaged from the 1982 El Nino season?  That this would cause the engine to seize up while I was on these dangerous freeways or give me no way of knowing when I was out of gas in the middle of East LA?  No bueno (no good) especially while driving a white Chevy Monte Carlo; a signature, stand-out, Latino gangland car.  At the time, it was no laughing matter.  Now - I can laugh out loud as I sit safely in my study typing this morning's blog.

Yes, that car had a lot of memories for me.  Some good, some bad, and most of them I'll come to share in my blogs as time goes by.  As for this morning, you'll have to wait.  I'm off to the store in my new car.  My New Year's Eve, lovely Hyundai Santa Fe.  It's so nice to know that it won't seize up when I'm on the freeway or run out of gas when I'm in urban Denver.  Don't get me wrong, I still like a good thrill now and then, but I'm not up for staring down gangs of kids or hiking through snow banks for a gallon of gasoline especially if I happen to have one or both of the boys with me.  They take all of the joy from adventures especially when they're fighting, complaining, or threatening to take down a dangerous gang on their own.  Somehow, it just doesn't feel the same for this thrillseeker anymore.

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