My papi really wanted to raise me to be self-sufficient and independent. So I was about eight years old when I was put in the driver’s seat of our family car. I remember he had to put a pillow under me so I could see out the windshield and I had to pull myself up as close as possible to the steering wheel in order to reach the pedals.
Naturally, he was not expecting me to drive. I think he probably hoped that I would begin to feel comfortable thinking of myself as a driver. So he would make me drive up and down the gravel road of the where we lived in California giving me advice and warnings about what it means to be in charge of a car.
As soon as I turned sixteen (or was it eighteen?) he took me to take my driving test. I remember how happy he was that I passed the written and practice tests on my first try. He was so proud.
In spite of being a legal driver, my sister and cousin Cuca were no fans of mine. Once on our way to work they made me stop the car so they could walk across a small wooden bridge instead of staying in the car with me while I drove it over two skinny wood planks that was the space allotted for vehicles. They didn’t trust me to do it right. But I did it, though I was pretty scared myself, fear that I’m sure had to do more with their mistrust than any possible inability of mine to drive over what seemed a flaky bridge.
Many, many years had to pass before I drove a car again: my papi’s death, my college studies, my first marriage and then ending up in Texas. Since we didn't have a car, a friend let me borrow his so I could take the driver’s test. I was a bit surprised to pass it on the first try again and to have unconsciously remembered so much from my papi’s teachings during the written test.
In the early nineties I bought my first used car for $500. It was probably from the seventies. It was big as a boat and brown in color so I named it El Cucaracho (as a friendly wink to the Spanglish spoken in San Antonio; they call cockroaches, “cucarachos,” though in Spanish as far as I know, the noun is correct only in its feminine form, “cucarachas”).
El Cucaracho had a short life with us. And it wasn’t until December 1993 that I bought my first new car. An acquaintance made the deal for us over the phone, because I was a nervous wreck. We showed up at a Nissan dealership with the confirmation letter of my fabulous new job that I was to start in mid-January 1994 and that was enough for a friend of my husband’s to drive us out of the dealership in a brand new 1994 Nissan Sentra. I did not believe I could drive this new car. We had never owned a new car in my family. I only knew three cars in my family: El Amapolo, El Palomo and El Cafetal, my papi’s pride and joy, used cars that he cared for with utmost reverence.
I promised myself I would drive my new car on that first day to my new job at Mary Kay. So La Nubecita (Little Cloud, it was a light gray color) stayed parked for those two weeks at our apartment complex.
I still worked at a radio station, so a coworker would come pick me up; she would park her car, and she would drive us to work in my new little car. I remember that in trying to be encouraginge, she told me that my car resembled a small Lexus. I didn’t know what the word Lexus meant or implied.
Such was my fear that I promised myself that I would never drive on any freeways. So I started driving from Irving to Dallas on the side streets. We loved our little Nubecita. She was reliable and trustworthy, she never broke down. But I promised myself that I would never buy another Nissan vehicle because of how I was treated when my car needed some bodywork done at the dealership. I remember I was so unhappy with their service that I wrote to several Nissan people, the CEO included. I never received a reply. And I kept my promise. We’ve been Honda customers since then.
After the Nubecita, came La Tortola, an Accord I drove until 2005, and then La Bluesera (a Honda Odyssey). I loved this car, it was ample and so comfortable inside, most especially after my stroke. I felt that it was like my little house on the road. And it had so many luxuries that we had not planned for: a DVD player for my daughter, a six-CD player and it even warmed our seats in cold weather.
Alas, La Bluesera started acting up this year, first the AC (unforgivable in the Texas heat), so we went ahead and got a new car. Another Odyssey. This one is a white one so I call it La Paloma in honor of my papi’s Palomo.
Buying a car is a long, long, strenuous process. About four hours if not more. At least for us. Since money is tight I remember praying, “Oh God, let me be humble and get only a car I need." So I considered another Accord, but it was very difficult for me and my cane to get in and out, as with the Civic; the Element and the Pilot were too high. Though I’m no Goldilocks, the van was just right for me. So I ended with that one again. And of course I love it. Now this one does not come with a DVD player (we really didn’t use it much), but it does come with a navigation system, Amelia we call the woman’s voice that seems to know how to direct us everywhere we need to be.
I wasn’t able to be humble and careful in the matters of money. I regret that. But maybe as a stroke survivor I should drive a car that helps me be safe and as comfortable as possible. Maybe its not a luxury but a necessity. May God agree.
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