I have a love/hate relationship with the kids in my neighborhood. They love my car, and I hate them when they go near it. Oh, for a two car garage!
There’s something about kids and Mustangs. At our old house in Ohio (the blue one), the 13-year-old next door pried all the horse and Ford emblems off my car, leaving hideous scratches and nicks in the paint job. He was abnormally short, so I let him off the hook figuring God had punished him enough. Here in Illinois, I’ve caught the neighborhood kids rolling Hot Wheels up and down my hood, letting stray basketballs bounce off my rear bumper, and constructing massive mountains of leaves on my trunk. Something about my Mustang, The Tomarken, draws young people to it. I can’t blame them, but it drives me nuts.
So when I came home from Home Depot yesterday, one of the neighborhood kids was standing there, eying my car, as they often do when I pull in. His father is, I think, a minister, so I’m obligated to be nice just in case Christianity turn out to be true. The blonde haired nine year old spoke to me the minute I stepped out of the car.
“So,” he said, “You’re having twins, huh?”
“Ummm, yeah. In a few weeks.” (Elizabeth had talked to his mother a few days earlier.)
“I bet you’re going to have to trade in your car for a minivan.”
Dude, I thought to myself, unless you are going make an cash offer, back away from the Tomarken. He continued:
“I don’t think carseats will fit in there.”
Suddenly, this kid is channeling my in-laws. Again, he continued:
“I bet this is worth a lot more than a minivan, though.”
Probably not, I though, but hey, I’ll give him points for the props. Now the truth is, Elizabeth and I have been going back and forth about my car since early on in the pregnancy, just after we found out we were having twins. I love The Tomarken dearly; I’ve traveled with her spirit through both my Mustangs for over 16 years. But two carseats don’t have a prayer of fitting in the back seat. One person can barely fit back there. Still, Elizabeth and I have been arguing over trading it in, and to be honest I’ve been something of a crank about it. After months of debate, I relented (very reluctantly), and we’ll be trading her in for a minivan very soon. It will be one of the most difficult days of my life, undoubtedly.
Back to the nine-year-old. I said:
“Yeah. I actually am going to have to trade it in for a minivan. I’ve had this car a long time. I’m really going to miss it.”
The kid stood there for about ten seconds. He stared up at me, then down at the car, then back up at me. Then he said the following, and blew me away.
“I bet you’ll love those twins more than you’ll miss this car.”
Wow. Man, that’s it right there, isn’t it? A nine-year-old putting it all in perspective for me. Giving up The Tomarken will be a hard sacrifice, and it will be the first of endless sacrifices, and though I don’t truly understand it now, deep down I know it will be supremely worth it.
The nine-year-old had it all figured out though.
“What’s your name, by the way?”
“Tommy.”
“Thanks Tommy. See you later.”
“See ya.”
Tommy has permission to pile leaves on my trunk any time he pleases.
(NOTE: To wash away the gross sentimentality of that experience, after relating that story to Elizabeth I downloaded the X-Men 3 trailer and made fun of it in my office for a few minutes. Ah, unfounded pop culture criticism makes for a tremendous soul cleanser.)
