As
I drive through life, my perspectives are constantly shifting. Sometimes my world appears different in an
instant, like when my first child was born.
Other times my shift in attitude seems to evolve over time. Such was the case my junior year in high
school when circumstances forced me to view life through a very ugly companion named,
Woody.
Every
birthday marks a significant milestone in a person’s life. You survived mortality another 365 days. However, there are some birthdays that alter
your very existence. On September 17, 1993 I was finally attacking the world
with a driver’s license!
I
began to open the gifts I had received from each of my family members. While I knew I wasn’t getting a car, a small
corner of my heart thumped – maybe.
I went to bed that night happy with my new clothes, but disappointed.
The big red bow vanished from my reverie.
My imagination tried to hold onto the car, but moments later it
disintegrated into the cavern of lost hopes as well.
I
was really good at being a 16-year-old girl.
I was highly emotional, bratty, and an entitled little snot. Immaturely I wrapped my self-worth into
“things”: the shinier, the newer, the
more expensive the better. As I looked
at the lives of my peers everyone seemed to have it better than me. All I saw was their “successes”. I didn’t notice the dents of others. Now, I was facing the totally humiliating and
unfair disadvantage of not getting a car for my birthday. My parents were so lame. They totally didn’t understand what it was
like to be the only junior at Alta High School without a new car. Were they like trying to ruin my life?
As
I was laying in my bed convincing myself of my parents disdain for me, they
opened my bedroom door and asked if they could come in. My dad explained that they had one last
present to give me.
Immediately
I sat-up. Pictures of me racing through
the school parking lot in a brand-new-cherry-red Mazda Miata Convertible flew
threw my head again. The dream was
resurrected!
“Yeeees?”
I questioned with my eyes closed and my hand outstretched.
My
dad placed a car key in the palm of my hand and gently tightened my fingers
around it to form a fist. Before I could
say a word, a silly grin jumped across my face.
I opened my eyes and looked down at the glittery silver beauty that was
mine. All mine! I was in a state of complete ecstasy. Louis Armstrong’s “What a Wonderful World”
seemed to musically score the moment.
My
mom handed me what could only be described as a baseball card with a picture of
a Miata on it, then uttered words I will never forget, “This card is the
closest you’ll get to owning a Miata. The key is to the station wagon.”
WAIT! WHAT?
My
parents, my mom especially, had a way of cracking themselves up. They thought this little stunt was
particularly funny. I wasn’t about to let
them see me sweat, so I didn’t let go of the tears welling up in my eyes until
they left my room. Ugh! How could they
do this to me? They were trying
to ruin my life!
“I
am not going to school tomorrow!”
I thought out loud.
The
next morning, during breakfast, my mom informed me that I was free to drive the
station wagon to school. And just like
that, my dream turned into a nightmare. I saw myself bouncing into the parking
lot in the brown wood-paneled boat of a car, leaving a trail of sparks because
the twine that was holding the rear bumper in place was coming undone. I saw the judging, mortified looks of the
kids in the car next to me when they heard ear-piercing screech the brakes
made. I couldn’t even fathom the
jaw-dropped faces of my friends if, heaven forbid, the enormously, hideous fog
lights my dad had installed to the grill himself
were running. Ultimately, I saw the
entire student body ridiculing me for actually bringing something like that
onto the grounds of Alta High School.
I
rolled my eyes and faced my fate.
As
I slowly rolled out of my cul-de-sac I pushed the front seat of the car back as
far as it would go and slumped my body down underneath the steering wheel so
all you could see through the front window, were my eyes. I surveyed the parking lot and parked the
embarrassing hunk-of-junk in the very last parking spot.
“Whew,”
I thought to myself. “No one saw me.”
As
I was grabbing my backpack out of the back seat of the car. I heard, “Hey Shannon!”
Startled,
I hit my head on the frame of the stupid car and quickly twirled around. Out of the 3000 students that attended Alta,
I was now standing face to face with my everlasting crush, Justin. Of course!
Suddenly
my mind searched for the right excuse as to why I was driving the station
wagon. ‘I was visiting my elderly
grandfather and he asked me to take his car for a spin… No that didn’t sound
right. It’s a rental; our car is in the
shop…A RENTAL? Come on Shannon! I got it!
My dad took my car, the Miata, to work and I’m driving his. Brilliant.’
Before
I could stammer out my insane lie Justin said, “Cool car!”
WAIT! WHAT?
As
we walked through the parking lot together Justin told me to look around and
see if I could find another car with as much character as mine. All I could see were brand new shiny SUV’s,
convertible sports cars, and luxury mid-size cars. I could honestly say that I didn’t see
another car quite like the station wagon.
It
took some time, but I began to see the car in a whole new way. Throughout the school year, more and more of
my peers thought it was cool. It was
eventually named Woody and became the car everyone wanted to ride in. My friends and I had a lot of good times in
that car.
With
time and perspective I have come to recognize that life is like Woody. Sometimes it’s ugly and beat-up. Sometimes it has screeched when I’ve applied
the brakes to slow it down. Compared to
other people’s shiny lives, there have been moments where my life has been
embarrassing and ugly. But the memories
of life, my stories, are in the rust spots, the torn ceilings, the dented
bumpers and the screeching brakes. I
recognize that my life is a blessing getting me to my eternal destination. I’ve stopped seeing it as ugly and
embarrassing. I’ve learned to love
it and enjoy the ride.
