I've been looking for a car for far too long with very little success (see previous post). Piece of junk after piece of junk with owners that seem to match (Ok, ok that's too harsh, but c'mon). Then after coming back from a late lunch I took the time to check online and low and behold was THE CAR. Wait for it...1994 Toyota Corolla, one owner, "too old to drive", 83,000 kms. Made the phone call, talked to a great old guy who is advertising for his 80 year old brother and owner of the Corolla. Julie and I load the kids in the van with a sweaty handful of cash and have an experience that is far removed from my other car hunting excursions.
We pull up to the house, grab Ivan and go over to see Vernon's car. This thing is almost a time capsule, at least on the inside. Small spot of rust that I made too big of a deal over. Ivan and Vernon are showing me this car, bragging about the condition. "The tires are three years old." I swear there is 95% of the tread on them. "Three years old", I said. They're brand new! I mean, do the math. 83k kms over 15 years is just over 5000 kms a year! I've done that in a month before! We do some intense negotiation and agree on a price. I have to take Ivan back to his house to get the safety and bill of sale for Vernon to sign. Ivan invites us inside and his wife gives my kids iced tea and cookies. We're sitting around the table like I'm a long lost son that Ivan didn't know about("Remember that night on the Peacekeeping mission in '74? Well, hello Dad"). Long story short we bought the car and it's now in our driveway, gently weeping because deep down it knows that no matter how well I take care, its better days are now officially over.
Here's the deal. This was an emotionally draining experience for me. I have a difficult time with seniors because I can't help but feel deeply tragic when I see them shuffling with a walker in a mall. Growing old means an ever increasing amount of loss. Loss of career, the home they've lived in forever, a license (Vernon was voluntarily giving up his license) among many others that contribute to a loss of independence. When I took the keys from Vernon I couldn't help but feel that I reached into his chest and took a piece of his soul with me (I put it in the glove box between the owners manual and registration). He was so anxious to make sure I knew everything about the car. "To turn on the interior light there is a switch on the dome inside." He was losing his car that he had taken care of so meticulously for the past 15 years. He was relegating himself to the bus and rides from friends and family. He just wanted to make sure that his car and me had a proper introduction.
It's just a car, but there is a lot of meaning for me wrapped up in this aqua import.
To be continued...
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