Rite of Passage



When I was 17, I bought my first car. I was a freshman in college, miles from home in LA LA Land. It was a 57 Chevy, with a Mexican blanket draped over the front seats and a bobble head dog on the dashboard. The virgin Mary was starring me straight in the eye as I looked in the rear view mirror. I’m sure there’s a metaphor in there about looking back to when I was a …. sorry I digress.

I paid $500 cash (check) for the car. It was only blocks away from my college dorm. I got in turned the key and carefully merged into traffic. I slowed down at the red light of a busy intersection. I can see the car coming at me still to this day as clear in my mind as if it were happening all over again right now. I was about 15 feet from the intersection … a large Plymouth was making a left turn in front of me. Had it been 2011, I’m sure it would have been her negligent texting that caused her to swerve into my lane. As it were she dropped a tissue on the floor and bent down to pick it up.

The radiator of the old ship let out a stream of white smoke upon impact. The low rider was totaled in one fatal blow. I got out of the car, wrapped myself up in the Mexican blanket and sat on the curb and cried. I was 17 and ostensibly alone in California. I didn’t have insurance, because I thought I had TIME to go back to my dorm and call Allstate to tell them about my new car.

My license was suspended and the other insurance company would not pay my claim. I remember calling my Daddy and crying HARD on the line. Listen!, he told me, ‘You tell the insurance company that you have lower back pain and that you are majoring in law and would love to take their client to small claims court for an extra credit assignment. They’ll settle with you.’ Then I called my Grandpa Jerry, who sent me a check for a down payment on a new car. ‘As long as you are alright, Nancy Ann. That’s what is important. There will always be another car.’

Tonight, I got to tell that to my son when he came home all misty eyed after totally the family van. I held him tight and told him everything would be alright. Then I dialed HIS Grandpa Jerry on the phone and said here … talk to your Grandpa he loves car stories. 🙂

His older sister did the same thing too. October Moons perhaps. The curse of the first car. Whatever it is, the sound of metal and braking glass stays in your cellular memory for a lifetime. Maybe it serves as a warning. A reminder that you are driving a one ton bomb that can destroy life in a blink of an eye. Or a drop of a tissue.

Of course there are lots of pieces to the story … lots of mistakes made … lots of family jokes made at Dan’s expense. But at the end of the day, as Dan’s bruises begin to discolor and the black night sky makes us all feel a bit blue .. I sit in my bed wrapped up in that same Mexican blanket of memories and I realize how very fortunate I am that it was Dan that called me from his cell phone … and not the police officer at the scene calling to tell me about the accident. Everyone is alright. That’s what is important. Thank you Grandpa Jerry your words ring so very true.

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