We’re passing out awards here today for the deserving cars from our youth. If you managed to go through your teens unscathed by the character-building experience of watching your friend climb in her shiny barely used Bonneville while you repositioned the duct tape on your Ford Escort station wagon fender so it wouldn’t fall off when you slammed the door, good for you. I, on the other hand, took a class from The School of Humility, and you know what? I’m glad. There isn’t a day that goes by that I don’t drive my car and feel like the coolest person on the planet when I push the window button…and the windows go down–what?!
There’s a few rules I gathered from years of driving character-building cars to make those years easier, and I’d like to share them with you today.
Name Your Car
Clunkers are automatically cool when you name them. Personify them with characteristics and talk about them like they are human. Inherited your grandpa’s boat a.k.a. Crown Victoria? She’s Big Marge, and she never starts the first time you try because she’s lazy and likes to make decisions on her terms. Also, she’s done with men. I often chose names that started with “The” for my cars because it worked for The Terminator and The Godfather.
Master the “That’s funny, I can’t find my car” Confused Shuffle
Leaving Happy Hour with a crowd of work friends and feeling a little embarrassed about the piece of junk you’re headed to in the parking lot? Pretend you can’t remember where you parked it, and shuffle around the parking lot “searching” until everyone has driven away. Look confused. If someone offers to drive you around until you find it, smile and shoo them away: “This happens all the time. You know me. Head in the clouds, ha ha ha. I’m good, you go on–I’ll find it.” This happened to me on many occasions.
Take It To the Moon.
At some point, the whole “I’m embarrassed of my car” thing is going to get old, and you’ll eventually stumble into some real confidence, finally able to proudly own the uniqueness of a busted up box-on-wheels that smells like cheese. At this point, pretend your car is a rare gem and accessorize it Vegas style. Hang dice on the rear view mirror. Buy the gold chain license plate holder. Search the Internet for a hood ornament that sends a message of power and class, possibly this one. Purposely valet park everywhere you go and throw your keys to the attendant with a wink and say, “Take care of her, she’s special.” My dad does this with his 1994 LeBaron convertible which we all call The LeBenz because he thinks it’s a Mercedes. He cranks dance music up really high when he drives it–with the top down, of course–and waves at all who pass as if they wish they were him.
Now with no further ado, I’d like to pass out the awards to the three cars of my youth that helped shape who I am today. I dug through some old photo bins in search of pictures to illustrate these cars but found nothing. Brett, on the other hand, leaped at the chance to offer his old photos because he basically has a small suitcase packed with nothing but faded photos of all the cars he owned in his youth–and he owned a lot. Cars were important to him. He posed like Knight Rider next to his cars for photos.
I was beginning to wonder why I didn’t have any pictures of me standing next to my old cars until I realized maybe it’s because when you’re driving a teal Ford Escort wagon with two missing hubcaps and the fender strapped on with duct tape, you’re not like, “Hey Dad, will you take a picture of me in my bathing suit next to my car?’
Sweet Pea – After my parents divorced, my mom and siblings and I moved in with a pastor’s family. Eventually we all moved together to a big home out in the country where several families from our church lived together. It was as weird as it sounds, but I also have many vibrant memories from those years. We all fit and traveled together in Sweet Pea, our huge passenger Scooby Doo van. She was white with a big fat sky blue stripe painted across her middle. I’ve never seen another van like her. She once took us on a 3-week trip out west where her horn broke and wouldn’t turn off. It was just a constant honk as Sweet Pea glided across mountain highway. When the give-or-take 500 people inside got tired, we’d curl up in whatever empty square inch we could find to try and sleep. I once woke up in the middle of the night on a road trip and realized I was crouched completely under the back bench seat. Thank God I was homeschooled because Sweet Pea wasn’t a van you’d want to be caught dead climbing out of at middle school drop off. Years later, after we’d grown up and moved on, my brother and sister-and-law would swear they’d catch sightings of her in the town where we grew up. Sweet Pea was a legend and sometimes I wonder if it was all just a dream.
The Celebrity (not my car picture, but similar)
Okay, The Celebrity wasn’t a very original name because it was, in fact, a Chevy Celebrity, but the name also conjures images of red carpets and paparazzi, and let’s just The Celebrity needed that because she was anything but noteworthy–so bland that even her paint job had lost its shine, worn down to a sort of odd matte navy blue. She looked like someone buffed her with a Brillo pad. But she was my first car, her keys given to me in a wrapped box at my homeschool high school open house by my dad who I was just getting to know after having been separated from him for years. I think she was a Celebrity Eurosport–Eurosport being a fancy name they used to attach to shitty cars to make you think you’re getting something really special. Yes, I’d like to upgrade to the Geo Prism Eurosport, please. The Celebrity was a faithful servant up until a 16-year-old ran a stop sign out in the country on her way to school and hit me. She wasn’t going that fast and no one was hurt, but when your car is worth about $600 and you have PLPD insurance, you just kiss it goodbye and call it a loss. Which led me on the hunt for a new car. My dad and Gary scanned the papers until they found a winner. On the way to go see it, I remember telling them, “I really don’t care what it is unless it’s a station wagon. I’m not driving a station wagon.”
The Staysh (picture not my car but so close!)
I winced when I saw her, but my dad convinced me that it would be the greatest car for driving my nieces around. So we bought the teal Ford Escort station wagon which quickly became The Staysh, the car joked about more than any other car in our family. First of all, she was trashed 99% of the time. Like the kind of trashed that would allow me to comfortably live in it for 6-8 weeks if I ever found myself stranded. Piles of clothes. Books. Food. Paperwork. Old purses. Kids’ clothes. Toys. 18 Pairs of Shoes. Numerous make-up cases. I once drove around with a vacuum in the backseat because I was helping my sister clean offices. There was no place for anyone to sit. When things broke, I just reattached them with duct tape. The starter broke so many times that a mechanic told me he could fix the problem by installing a push-button starter, except he had to install it near the floor. So every time I started her, I’d have to hold the brake and then bend over, disappearing from sight for a minute while I pushed the button on the floor. I got in a fender bender and reattached the fender with–yep, duct tape. One early evening I was driving home on the last stretch of dirt road that led to my dad’s driveway. The setting sun straight ahead blinded my vision, but I was sure I could have driven it with my eyes closed, so I just kept driving. Into a tree. That was the last day the passenger door opened. But I kept driving her, my loyal Staysh. Until I took a job in Florida and closed the chapter on humbling cars with character.
How fun is it reminiscing our old cars? There isn’t a family get together where one of these blasts from our past doesn’t get brought up, and we end up in tears, laughing about the memories. Do you have a memorable car from your youth? Did you name your cars? I want to hear all the car stories, I must know all the names!
Oh man oh man, SO many cars like this in my upbringing, hahaha! And what is it with Crydermans and embarrassingly huge vans? We had a giant maroon one that we called The Cheesebox. When my dad was home, he often drove us to school in it and would lecture us about all sorts of stuff, so we called his talks “Cheesebox Sermons” haha 🙂 We would go camping up north or at Duke Creek and the van was so big that we all slept in it.
I drove a pretty cool “vintage” Firebird for awhile in my late teens/early 20s. It had the kind if headlights that automatically folded up at night when you turned the car on, except that one didn’t stay up so my dad had fashioned a stick…yes, a stick….to hold it up. Sometimes the stick would fall down so I was known for putting the car in park at a red light and suddenly jumping out to reposition the stick so my headlight would stand up while out with friends at night. Also the electrical system started going bad and the horn would honk randomly when I turned the steering wheel left. I had just started waiting tables at a restaurant part time at night and came to work one day and there are a bunch of cute male waitstaff standing outside. I go to pull into a parking space and the horn starts honking like crazy. They all awkwardly wave at me because they thought I was honking at them. I waved back. So embarrassing.
I loved this post! My 1989 volvo station wagon I drove in 2000 was named Bernadette. Old. Clunky. Couldn’t go 60 mph if she tried. She was a tank. The navy blue pleather seats could blister your legs in the summer. It would need to run for at least 20 minutes to get any heat but it miraculously had heated seats which was a godsend in New England. The Sweeds had those in volvos since the 60s! The roof rack had fragments of white hydrangia trees all spring and summer that I parked underneath in my parents driveway which seemed in character for Bernadette.
When I was in university (1988) in Winnipeg (Canada) 3 friends and I took an impromptu trip down to Denver Colorado to visit a friend who was living there. We decided – as college students do – that leaving at the stroke of midnight would be the thing to do. It is important to note that this was February in Canada! My friend went out to start the old Honda Civic, named Bud, and the engine started on fire! He popped the hood and shoveled some snow onto the engine to put out the fire .. . and we all piled in ready to go :). Other important notes. It was a four door car – but only the drivers door worked – so we all had to pile in and out of the drivers door every time we stopped! LOL! At one point in the trip the front bumper fell off and we tied it back on with rope.. . . about halfway through the trip the starter started having problems so one of us would have to tap it with a screwdriver while another turned the key. And, for the last few hours driving home up through North Dakota and into Canada the heat stopped working and we had to scrape the inside of the windshield from the inside frequently just so we could see out! We had such a good time – and the story is even more incredible 30 years later – because at the time – it was not all that different from all the other crazy stuff we were doing! Too funny! Such good memories! Thanks for reminding me 🙂 🙂
I enjoyed this post because it didn’t involve any new purchase :). Thank God for reusing things, especially BIG things like cars.Saving the Earth will always be in vogue.
Our family went through Chevy Vega’s like they were going out of style…because they were. First one was poop brown, second one aging banana yellow. The back seat folded down and my sister and I would lay in the back, trying not to roll around while playing Trouble or Sorry! because it was the mid-80’s and seat belt laws didn’t exist.
When we were licensed to drive, my Dad invested $500 in a 1978 green Ford Thunderbird for us to share. My sister hated it and saved up to buy herself a white Firebird with red velvet seats which meant The Emerald Yacht was all mine, baby! It actually came with an 8 track tape in the player so I got Andy Gibb’s greatest hits FOR FREE! My grandma let me dig through her garage for any 8 tracks that belonged to my uncles back in the day, so I upgraded to Led Zeppelin and The Eagles.
The seats were also emerald green but had that special vinyl sparkle that was dazzling when the sun hit it. The car was huge, but lighter than it looked so driving in the winter was ridiculous (WA state) and I took out more garbage cans with her massive stern than I care to admit. I’m pretty sure Bosley from Charlie’s Angels drove the exact same T-Bird, back when it was cool(ish).
The upside was that every boy at my school wanted to drive her around and I got a lot of free lunch trips to Taco Bell in high school!
These are making me laugh so hard. What was it about those old car colors?!? Why poop brown and aging banana yellow?!
Our kitchen was also decorated in the same color scheme, but throw in rusty pumpkin orange to complete the trifecta. I find that even now, I use poop as the standard name for colors. The new weird green color on jeeps is now Baby Poop and I had to explain the hospital “newborn baby poop chart” to my kids so they had a point of reference!
94 Mercury sable. I dubbed her The Chariot of Fire. I wrote the next owner a full page of instructions about how to handle her properly. Lol.
These are great! We had a 1977 Lincoln Town Car that we drove until she caught fire on the freeway while my Dad was driving her sometime in the late 80’s. She didn’t have a name, but she was the car I had to learn to drive in, with my little brothers in the back seat giving the blow-by-blow account for every five miles of speed I would put on (she’s doing 30 now, whoa!!). All of my own cars I have called Bessie, unless they make annoying noises when the door is left open, and in that case, they’re called Charlotte, as in Hush, Hush Sweet Charlotte. 😀
I had a sea foam green 1980 Ford Escort hatchback that had belonged to a older lady and had been garage kept. She was so old, but in mint condition. Her name was Francine. When I went to the beach one year, I had an airbrushed license plate made to match her paint with her name on it. People kept asking why I didn’t have my name on it, “I wouldn’t wear a name tag with Francine on it, why would she wear one with my name on it?”
I did have a COMPLETELY rusted out Corolla that the clutch went out on while driving home from buying it. I never loved that car and it didn’t get named.
The first car I got to borrow for my summer job was my grandpa’s Chevy Lumina. It was the definition of a grandpa car – it was a boat with an entirely beige interior, and it was literally as old as I was. It was so low to the ground it felt like your butt was dragging on the pavement. On days after I’d had my high school weight training program, my sore legs could not manage the deep squat needed to get out.
Next I bought my own car, nicknamed the Nimbus 2000 because it was my very first car (like Harry’s first broom), and it was made in the year 2000. It would sporadically choose not to start, and once died randomly when I stopped behind another car on the road. No one knew what was wrong with it. After that, it was quickly replaced by The Firebolt, a shiny new-ish upgrade that hasn’t embarrassed me (yet).
I can’t be the only one disappointed to not see more of Brett’s collections. C’mon Kelle! Indulge us!
I was a spoiled brat who got a brand new BMW 325i for my 16th birthday that I didn’t deserve. I named her Phyllis. Im not so spiked now and bust my butt for what I have —2019 BMW X5 now Ive lovingly named Oprah.
I had an AMC Pacer that was silver with turquoise vinyl everything. This would be 1986-87. It was given to me by my uncle when life handed me my lemons. I had to roll the window down to open the drivers door from inside as it had no handle. The ignition or key shaft also didn’t work, so NO KEY was necessary. Just crank the ignition key shaft over and she would fire right up. Usually. If she didn’t, I’d roll the window down, pop the hood, jiggle the distributor cap ( it didn’t fit properly) and crank her over again. She would start right up, and soon I’d be on my way. On her last day, I was paying a speeding ticket ( the gal could haul a$$, plus she outdid any Landcruiser in an epic Colorado blizzard) at a courthouse. When I came out to leave, she wouldn’t start, so I popped the hood, got out and was about to jiggle the distributor cap when I notice little tiny flames all along the entire electrical system. I immediately ran back into the courthouse like “chicken little”,with my hands flailing in the air wildly, shouting “my cars on fire, my cars on fire, she’s gonna blow, she’s gonna blow”. I am hysterical just writing this out. That car lasted me 3yrs and got me out of a horrible relationship situation and allowed me a fresh start. She was ugly as hell, but one of the best cars I’ve ever had.
My friend drove her mom’s dark purple Pacer. Terrible car for looking at boys (too many windows), but MAN did we have a lot of fun. Kinda still miss it, to be honest – maybe it’s my youth I miss!
My first car was the shared family car, a 1973 AMC Hornet Sportabout. Basically, a mini station wagon. The seatbelts (only in the front) gave you the choice of lap belt or lap and shoulder belt, but the option in back was lap only. There was a rear seat fold down option, which led to the much coveted back back. There was no 3rd row seat in the back back, you just kind of hung out back there and hoped for the best. By the time I drove Bertha, it was 1983, and her shiny red paint had turned into the Crayola orange red crayon complete with a stripe the color of breast fed baby poop. It had AM only radio, the drivers side door and window didn’t open, (you had to slide across the hot black vinyl from the passenger side) and if you tried to open the hatch to the back back, it would fall into the car. Those were the good old days. I loved that car?
The Little Van that Can! And it was a can–an ’86 Ford Aerostar minivan that was just metal on the inside except for two front cloth bucket seats. Had a stick shift and no power steering, so every ride was an athletic event for me, the driver.I built a platform bed in the back for my futon mattress, velcroed colorful curtains over the windows and lived in that rig for two months! Ah, the memories….
I name everything! My first car that I owned (that we still have and are planning on passing down to our oldest, much to his chagrin, haha) was Tucker Toyota, and our last minivan was Austen Tacious Odyssey. Our newest van is Jesus Chrysler.
I’m a former farm kid, and we had a 70s Chevy farm truck that my mom and I hated. It had large holes in the floorboards that my dad said were air conditioning, and we frequently had to shoo mice and snakes out. It was the ugliest thing I’d ever seen, and my mom would always leave the keys in the ignition when she had to drive it into town, hoping someone would steal it and she could feign innocence.
No one ever did. It was too hideous to steal!
I love your post AND all the comments! My parents had a Chevy Celebrity, but that was the “good car” that I wasn’t allowed to drive. I drove a burgundy (inside & out) Dodge Omni whose power steering was dead, which meant you had to crank the heck out of the steering wheel to turn. When I moved home after college, I drove their Chevy Citation. It was NEVER a good car, and by the time I was driving it, we called it The Rust Mobile. We lived a mile from the beach (not fancy, trust me) and the car lived outdoors. When I drove on the freeway, chunks of rust sometimes hit the windshield. When you put anything in the trunk and slammed it, you could hear rust raining down. One time, I met friends for lunch. After lunch, we walked to my car. A guy I’d just met saw my car and just laughed.
My first car of my own I actually named Marge! She was blue, like Marge Simpson’s hair. 🙂
Ahhh…the teal green Ford Escort, yup, mine wasn’t a classy station wagon, but just the standard escort. Bought her on the first day of my teaching job, before kids, and it was great until the air conditioning broke and the heat broke (mind you I live in Michigan), and we didn’t have a garage so I parked it (sorry, no gender for that gem) outside. I used to drive to work with a blanket wrapped around me. One glorious, sunny spring day I was driving with the windows down (darn air condition), sun roof open, and driving at 55 mph on a blue day I saw a dark cloud coming at me. Next thing I knew, a traveling colony of bees hit my front window and bees were falling into my car everywhere. I was screaming from being stung, what I thought was at least 100 times, but turns out, only three. I was only a mile from home and flew that car into the driveway, ran out screaming, my husband came running and asked if I was stung by a bee…and then he saw them, almost a thousand bees (yes, we counted to 800), dead on my car and inside my car.
On a completely other note, my husband has two full size conversion vans, you know, the kind with the power button sofa and wooden tv. One is named Clint, and are newest one, which really is 13 year old is named Allan-tan Grandpa van! Love this post, how fun!
My cousins who lived almost next door had “Doodoo Brown,” an old, trashed brown sedan that would often break down in the middle of the road. Then they had “Big Daddy,” a huge, HUGE turquoise (with sparkles) station wagon. We often laugh about those cars.
I bought my first car summer of 1993. She was a blue 2 door 1983 Mercury Lynx hatchback ( pretty much an Escort!! ) In a royal blue colour. In order for her to stay running when it was cold ( Canadian winters) I would have to drive it with two feet at times cause if you were stopped you’d have to keep one foot on the gas and the other on the brake or it would stall! I was constantly adding oil to it cause it burned it like crazy!! I carried around and used an old broom handle to support the hatch in case I wanted to load anything into it. She treated me well for about four years. Ah the memories!!!
My first car was a 1994 dark blue Dodge Spirit. Her name was Felicia and I was obsessed with her. I would purposfully go out and get lost because I had so much fun driving her. Windows down, barefoot, blasting the radio. We only had about a year together before my brother got his license and we had to share her. Not too long after that he took her off-roading (a SEDAN) and basically the bottom of the engine got ripped out, I still haven’t 100% forgiven him!
1980-something used Ford Escort named Martha. She had a major oil leak when I bought her and the dealer said they had to “document” it to make good on the warranty, so I wasn’t allowed to add oil. I would drive 20 miles from work to the dealership every day so they could measure the oil level–which was always dry. After a few weeks of this, they had killed the engine and had to install a new one, for free. Good job, guys! Martha lasted another few years and was sold to a friend’s teenager. She overheated one day and the kid just kept driving–until the poor car blew a rod and died in a cloud of smoke on the side of the highway. RIP, Martha.
I still drive a car that is been through the ringer and back. I did mudder to my toddler this week after she peed in her car seat for the 1,231,482,309,458,032 time, I hope we still have this car when you turn 16. To my co-workes, I often remark the best thing about my car you can’t even see! It is paid in ful,l Baby!
We had a 1972 (ish) Ford Falcon (similar to this but in blue… https://www.tradeuniquecars.com.au/news/1705/1972-ford-falcon-500-xa-tempter) we (my 3 sisters and I) HATED it!! so so so much. it was loud, old, and just embarrassing. We spent hours in that car on family holidays. It held all 6 of us (mum dad and kids) and the best thing about it was that my older sister would sit in the middle of the front seat and I would sit behind her and I would pull her ponytail the whole time (so mean!). I actually feel car sick just thinking about that car! As years went on (Dad still owns it to this day, however it has been in a garage for a good 20 years without being used) we used to get random people knock on the door and ask to buy it after they’d seen it parked out front. It is quite desirable now!
My partner has a Toyota Carolla from the early 90’s called Charlene. She has served him well as a run around. he bought her when his sister died and he inherited two teenaged children from her. Those kids have grown up now, and he has just stopped driving Charlene this year.
My husband is A CAR GUY. Yeah, like some people are doctors or lawyers. He’s owned 50-something cars since I’ve known him. He buys them, gets bored with them and then sells them so he can find some other deserving vehicle he can bestow his love upon. While we were dating he was driving a ’72 Mustang and I loved that car….cried when he sold it and vowed never to get emotionally involved with four wheels and a radio ever again. Now here we are all these years later and still they come and go……SO many cars.
We have a 2002 Grand Prix. We brought our almost 14 yr old son home in that car and I have a 19 and 17 year old who both learned how to drive in this car. I’m about to teach my soon to be 14 year old how to drive in the same car we brought him home in! It’s now my husbands work car. He drives it 15 miles to and from work. Only one window goes down the rest are help up with wood shims. The key doesn’t come out of the ignition and you have to stick a pen in this hole by the shifter to get it to shift out of park. This car has done so much for us! My oldest named her black Betty! She has gotten her stuck in corn fields and given her and her friends countless joy rides in the country and through huge rain puddles that she has videos to prove. It will be a sad day when she dies!!
This post SPEAKS to me. My first car we named The Banana Boat. We bought it from my Grandpa and named it because of its obvious physical features. Yellow. Extra long. Rode like you were driving on the waves. It was a 1976 Chevy Caprice Classic and to my delight (or disdain), the entire interior and dash of the car was bright RED. It was the car you dream of as a new 16 year old. It makes me a little sad to think my kids will never have to experience rolling up windows manually, and I have no cool photos to show them just what they are going to be missing out on.
My first car was a Chevette handed down from my grandma. She had it custom painted red with black and silver stripes… it was a four speed stick shift, so that meant all my friends learned to drive a stick by driving the “vette.” Yes we called it the red “vette.” But I also liked to incorporate the car into songs like Prince’s “little red Chevette,” or sang the same to “little red caboose”