Goodbye to All That

Our oldest son, Dennis Ray (a typical southern double name), said of us, his parents, “that all Daddy wants in a car is something to get him from one place to another, reliably and economically.” His judgement of me was: “and all Mother wants are giant cup holders by every seat, a place to put sunglasses, and her purse.” 
Well yes, every bit of that was true, and it was all an affront to his sensibilities as a lover of all things automobile. He studied cars like I studied literature in college, and like his father studies the German language as a hobby. 
The long line of loving family cars, purchased for just those reasons, were of no interest to him.
However, he became savvier as an adult when trying to influence our car buying decisions and he spoke his father’s language (reliability and economics). Dennis convinced his father to purchase a 1998 BMW 528i. He and Celeste, his wife, were living in Sicily, compliments of the Navy. Thus, he had an opportunity to buy at a discount what he called the best-engineered car for the money, one that would deliver a great driving experience and would “last forever.” 
Little did he know how prophetic those words would be, spoken all the way back in 1998 as our shiny new European car was parked in our garage in Wildwood Crest. 
It was a momentous year for us in many ways. Our first grandchildren, twins, were born on Christmas day to Dennis Ray and Celeste. We learned how to attach baby seats to the tan leather back-seats of the black BMW when we grandparents had the babies for the day. 
The “beamer” took us on college trips to Georgetown, George Washington University, and far off Indiana to Huntington College. 
Next came trips to beautiful brides to churches, where we said “goodbye” to daughters and eventually a younger son as they moved out.  
In a few years, other grandchildren came along. Some of them rode to Disney World in the back seat of that car, with Lego for entertainment. Others did the same in later years, but they preferred My Little Pony to Lego.
There were trips to the west to visit the family farm in Louisiana, and the dear aging car took it all in stride. The miles piled up, and thus to our son’s prophecy the car soldiered on as tireless as a toddler at bedtime. 
As the years wore on, the beamer became our second car and was driven only to work and back, about seven miles each way. Art said, “never mind about the radio not working. I drive to think about the day ahead.” Then the air conditioning quit working, and around the second fix Art said, “I really like to ride with the windows down, and at least the heater still works.” 
A few years later the windows began to fail, and soon the driver’s window could not be counted on to lower for a cool ride to work. Our faithful mechanic disabled the window button so a passenger couldn’t lower one and not be able to put it up again. Really, by this time, no one was invited to ride in the car except troubled family members. 
The two events that brought this long love affair between Art and his car was an Amazon purchase and a wood chock. One Saturday, Art ordered a little package of faux leather. I wondered what it was for, and a few weeks later I found out. He had cut a patch and glued it over a hole in the driver’s seat. The patch was a glaring mismatch and only made the hole look infinitely worse. 
My “car attached” husband compared his car to a designer pair of jeans with artful holes to make them look worn. Both look silly to my eye. 
Then there was the three-inch wood wedge put there by the mechanic to keep the passenger window from falling down. I believe he may be sending a message that he believes the car is beyond his considerable skill to keep it on the road. 
My sweet husband was faithful and loyal to that car, recommended and made possible by our late son. He continues to believe that the engine is still as sound as a dollar and is ready for at least another 100,000 miles. 
However, he also recognizes that the beloved black beamer is ready to take a rest. Some people get attached to dogs, some to their favorite sweater, or a lucky t-shirt. But for Art, it has been that car for 24 years and 250,000 miles. Now is the time to say goodbye.