November 18, 2018 - When they say your first car is your first love - it's true, even if you're a girl.

          On the way home from getting groceries today I followed a 1970 Cutlass Supreme Oldsmobile from the Tri City Mall all the way to the lights on Hudlow Road.  Yes, I fondly remembered spending time waxing with paste wax that wouldn’t wipe clean around the trunk latch and chrome lettering of my first car.

The car I followed had the same white vinyl roof and white interior.  The body was blue; mine had been an aqua marine, the exact color of the ocean off the coast of Nassau.  That shinning, glistening, intoxicating shade of blue that’s green yet is blue.

          I smiled remembering the insurance had my car listed as blue and the registration listed it as green. 

          What a happy time in my life that was, my first car!  I remembered the purr of the 350 V-8 engine, which had such power.  My first car was a symbol of freedom and adult hood and coming of age.  It must sound funny coming from a woman this gushing remembrance of her first car.

          I have compared all my other cars to it and few have come close to ‘drive’ and the satisfaction it gave me.  I could drive myself to work and no longer car pool with my parents.  I could rendezvous anywhere in town for lunch with friends instead of having the choice of only two places within walking distance from work.  I could go shopping, anywhere, anytime, not having to wait on my parents to go on shopping sprees.  I could go out alone not having to depend on a date or a girlfriend in order to have a social life.  Oh the joy of that car!

Since I lived at home I was told in no uncertain terms by Mom and Dad the car I did buy had to meet their approval and be strong enough to hold up to impact.  No convertibles and no sports cars while I was living under their roof.  So the TR-6 I had been eyeing became a pipe dream even though I had enough cash to buy it as well as cover the insurance and registration and sales tax.  But, that was an emphatic NO.

Then I located the Cutlass.  It was a more sensible car, more “substantial” and of course it was $1,000 more.  The dealer even had me fill out a loan application for the balance.  I’d need one of my parents to co-sign a loan because there was a new law on the books in Massachusetts that if you were not 21 years of age and you wanted to make a major purchase such as car, you had 24 or 48 hours to change your mind [even if you were paying cash].  I’d have to have an adult over 21 to co-sign the purchase.  I was 18 at the time and thought it was a strange law.

The dealer said, “Put $100 retainer on the car until your Daddy can approve it.”   I knew better, I would negotiate with Mom to see if she would co-sign it.  That would be a one-in-a-million chance; both of my older brothers bought their first cars with cash and “no loans” was supposed to be the unspoken rule.

So, I worked on Mom and complained, sure the boys can get a cheaper car, because they can “fix it up” – I’m a girl – I don’t know how to “fix up a car”.  My parents took me to the dealer ship and Dad stayed in his car – it was going to be between me and Mom.  

The dealer handed me the keys and said, “Take it for a spin”.  I was shocked at that and walked over and got into the driver’s seat.  Mom got in the passenger seat after she kicked one tire with a smile.  I put the keys in the ignition and my mother reached over touching my hand saying, “No-let’s not.

          She added, “It looks good, no dents, substantial enough, clean interior.” She stopped and added, “Has a radio.”

          I said, “My credit has cleared with GMAC.  The payments are $66.19 a month.  I make $90 take home pay a week, now if you don’t want to co-sign it . . .” my voice trailed off.  I hated to say, I’d have to keep looking for something less expensive.

          “I’ll co-sign it.”  Mom said.

          “There will be no problem; I’ll make all the payments.” I said.

          “You’ll make the payments, or I’ll own the car.”  She smiled at me adding, “Do you suppose this car can find its way to shopping malls?”

          “Yes!” I was excited and surprised Mom would co-sign.  She didn’t even have her driver’s license or even know how to drive.  She co-signed the loan and I could pick it up the next day.

          The day I picked up my car, my mother went for her learner’s permit.  When she got it, she asked me to teach her how to drive.  She was 46 years old and I was going to teach HER to drive.  I think she had ulterior motives.

          Oh, what happy memories of that Cutlass.  I ran the odometer up from 44,000 to over 100,000 miles during my ownership.  I put three mufflers on her, one of which was a birthday present from my Mom.   She was a car I had confidence in and the car was personified as a ‘she’.  She was a lady.  You could punch the accelerator down and pass people who were glued.

          I took my brother Ken out on a straight away to test her out to see how she was on speed.  I had the needle buried way over the speed limit and she didn’t shimmy or shake.  All Ken could say when he leaned over and saw the speed was, “Geez, Sis” and told me to back it off.

          I couldn’t believe I never got a speeding ticket.  “She” had a heater that would melt a quarter inch of ice off the windshield in less than 5 minutes.  When the tires that came with the car wore out, I got steel belted radials. It was like a new sports car; “she” squatted into the corners.  She had no trouble in the New England snow up to six inches.  “She” didn’t handle ice well, no weight in the rear end, which was rectified with a 100 pound cement bound from the Surveyor’s company I worked for.

          That car was my independence from my current boyfriend and it chased my future husband till I caught him.  On Wednesday afternoons I’d drive out to the golf links where my future husband would be playing golf and usually see him on the 3^rd or 4^th hole.  My long hair flying, I would toot and wave at him. It would make our week of telephone romance calls all worth the while.

          That car found shopping malls where Mom and I would “do lunch” in lovely spots on many a Saturday.  It was that car that made my Mom into my best friend.  Sometimes we would shop all day and buy nothing but lunch.

          As I was still living at home, Dad no longer took Mom to and from work.  I’d take Mom to work so we could leave later and Dad would pick Mom up from work.  This gave us time to girl talk in the mornings.

          That car found its way to five-star restaurants all over New England with my future husband.  We’d take it for a ride to the beach in the middle of the winter just to walk on frozen, barren beaches.  That car was my ticket to all the good things that have come my way.

          That first car will always be my first love; the Olds I saw today was in “crème puff” condition, just like mine used to be.