My First Car September 9, 2009

I was eighteen, dating a boy, T here on out, in a small town about an hour north of my house and was using my Dad’s car to get me there. My Dad (well both of my parents, actually) really didn’t care for T who took their lovely daughter and turned her into a punk with a new (terrible) attitude.

When I got my driver’s license my Dad did not let me drive his car, a large 1994 Oldsmobile Cutlass Supreme. Her name was Beastly, she roared like a monster and had a sexy sunroof, that’s all that mattered to me. The first night I actually got to drive on my own my Dad was out bowling, I had managed to break down my Mom and went out for a couple of hours. It went downhill from there. For my parents, that is.

I was a selfish teenager who began taking the car without asking, my parents eventually caught on to my game and started asking my permission to use the car. It was great. That is, until my parents met T.

Making time to see T was beginning to cause some real tension between the three of us, Pops would put up a fight whenever I’d leave the door, threaten to take the car away from me. Not good. So what was my logical reaction to this? Buy my own car.

I had first revealed my plan to T, who loved it. I’m sure it was because he loves cars more than me, than this huge financial step I was taking. We visited a dealership in his town and I found THE car I wanted, a Mazda Speed Protege. I took it for a test drive, well, T drove since I didn’t know how to drive standard (smart, Ivana, buy a car you can’t drive). I wanted that car. I had planned to get my financing in order and come back with an offer the very next morning.

Next morning, I’m all smiles and drive to the dealership only to find out the car had been purchased. Who purchased it? None other than T!!! I freaked because I knew he didn’t secretly buy it for me, he wasn’t that thoughtful (or rich). He bought the car for himself, behind my back and didn’t have the decency to tell me. What a monster.

I promptly drove over to his place and immediately transformed into doormat. I tried to confront him but took it back the second he turned the confrontation on me. He knew I was afraid he was going to dump me at any moment, so I gave into whatever he wanted the moment he got upset. This was the young, dumb, fat girl in me (I’m much meaner now).

I settled for something similar but not nearly as sporty. A peppy Mazda Protege5. When I was signing the papers, the salesman asked if I had something to trade in. Without thinking, I had just blurted out, “Yes. A ‘94 Cutlass Supreme.” Eeeek. Not. My. Car. He explained to me that I’d have to have my Dad sign over permission to trade the car in. What the eff was I going to do? My parents didn’t even know I was buying a car.

I thought long and hard about how and what I was going to tell my Dad and every scenario I had thought up ending up with me, dead. So what was my decision in the end? I chose to write my Dad a letter, explaining the situation, leaving the filled out paperwork with the signature line highlighted and placing it on top of his lunch bag for him to complete before he left for work that morning.

I came down to the kitchen hours after he had left to find… the signed form, no bloodshed and no complaints when he came home that night. Had I finally cracked my Dad? Figured out how to ‘ask’ permission? Maybe. I’ll be honest though, I seriously thought he would take the day to think up all sorts of mean things to say but they mean things never came. He was actually ok with me trading in his car. Bizarre.

I’m still driving my peppy baby, named Baby. She let me ride shotgun through many of life’s adventures, when I got rid of T, got my full-time job, moved out of my parents place and met Boy. Boy and I love her and her hatchback and have had many adventurous (and extremely humourous) moments with her, like a happy little family. I’ll be forever grateful to Pops for not freaking on me. Maybe he knew that my buying a car of my own would make me grow up, learn how to budget and be responsible?

What was your first car? Did you ’steal’ it like I did mine?