From Great-Grandparent’s Garage to Present Day Driveway, “Sandy” Drives Again

Do you have a name for your car? Sandy – named after my favorite leading musical lady – is mine. Sandy has an interesting past and even more exciting future. Dating all the way back to 1999 – and from my great grandparent’s garage no less – from the outside she seems normal, but she has her own dents and bruises and is in a desperate need of a bubble bath.

Besides a custom roofing job created from an old bed sheet and with a broken radio to add to the mix, she transports me quite well. Although she’s been a trooper, she tends to need a lot of repairs. You know it’s pretty bad when the mechanic knows you by your first name.

He waits patiently on the other line and the first thing I say is “Hi it’s Emily” and I can hear the mechanic on the other side of the phone smile as I continue with a, “How’s your day?,” like we’re long lost friends from high school and we’re scheduling an appointment to go get coffee from the local coffee house.

When the said appointment day rolls around I stroll into the shop knowing exactly who the receptionist is. I know I will be greeted by a warm smile and hear one of my favorite songs blaring over the speakers. I know that Sandy is in good hands for now.

I pick her up and get Sandy’s long “to fix” list she has after bringing her in to fix one simple thing. The total figure at the bottom makes my heart skip a beat and I realize what I need to make sure my Sandy girl is in working condition. After all that, I see her. I get the key and I’m off. Once again it’s just my Sandy girl and me.

Vroom vroom down the street I go. It’s almost strange to be behind the wheel again after she gets back from her appointment. After a good solid 20 minutes we are already reconnected like

time hasn’t passed. When you trust your car and you trust your abilities behind the wheel anything is possible.

I used to be terrified of the interstate – not so much because of myself, but because I don’t trust other drivers. Sandy has been the only car that I’ve felt comfortable enough to take out on the interstate.

A lesson I’ve learned growing up is that not everything shiny and new is all that it’s cracked up to be. Beyond all the car appointments I have to make and the strange familiarity with the mechanics, I wouldn’t trade her. It means something bigger and better that I get to experience something that my great-grandparents did before me.

The magic is already there. This car already has experienced many different generations of grandchildren and even great-grandchildren. Now, instead of sitting in the backseat I get to be the one in the driver’s seat. Whether I’m near or far from my family, I am always surrounded by a piece of family wherever I go – in the form of a little white car named Sandy, who dates back to 1999.