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I've Had 5 Kids

     What’s it like to have kids? Well, I think the only people – aside from parents – that come close to knowing are car enthusiasts. The other day, I sold my 2000 Camaro z28 with which I had forged many wonderful memories. Just like parents who wave their son goodbye as he departs to live alone at college and continue waving until all visual contact is lost, I watched my Camaro get loaded onto the trailer and stood there with a mellow face until the diesel truck rounded the final bend in my neighborhood, pulling the Camaro with it out of sight. With slow, diligent steps, I glumly walked down my driveway and started talking to my family of how I’d miss it, and recalled my favorite memories with the car, like when I’d rip through the gears on the highway, or slide the tail out in turns with every opportunity I got. Or, how, during the 10 months of my ownership, I fixed up many things on the car, making it a much better one than what it was under the previous – I kid you not – coke-head’s ownership. A piece of interior trim here and there, some new wheels, radio, and kept it sparkling clean. So, I had watched and helped make this car into something much better, just like a parent raises a child, and watches the child flourish and grow over the years.
     Is it wrong that I’m comparing a car to a son? Many people would say yes. But believe me, the similarities are there. All the cars that I’ve owned and have actually enjoyed, I would love to see again one day, just to see what shape they are in, much like parents long to see their child if they’ve been away. And just as well as parents can recognize their child amongst hundreds of people, I could recognize my once cherished car almost immediately, unless it’s been altered drastically. The orange-painted hood scoop slits on my Subaru RS, the fixed up rust spots, the poorly matched front fender on my Camaro, I knew all of the imperfections of all of my cars, and those little things make a car so distinguishable amongst their owners. These faults are comparable to a person’s facial features, things that make an individual unique and easily identifiable.
     Which brings me to my next point. There’s something special about owning older cars. Not classics or collectables, but cars that are 5 or more years old. If everyone drove brand new, off-the-showroom-floor cars, then even I would have trouble discerning my car from the rest. Until, of course, people started damaging theirs and what not. However, with older cars, you know each and every one of your car’s foibles, and that is what gives a car character. And when it has character, you assimilate it to having a soul. And, like Sir William Lyons – the founder of Jaguar – said, “The car is the closest thing we will ever create to something that is alive”. In essence, a car’s imperfections trick us into thinking it has soul, and because we spend so much time with them and encounter such a vast array of experiences with them (some wonderful, and some not), we really can’t help but become attached to that piece of metal that sits and stays where we put it (even in the harshest of conditions), without moving, more loyally than a dog. And when it’s time to jump in it and use it, it (almost) always fires right up and takes you where you need to go, or provides the fun you seek. 
     Which is why when the time comes to sell the car which has served you so valiantly, unless it’s been a complete nightmare to own and has done nothing worthy under your ownership, you are left reminiscing about it. Hell, maybe it’s even harder to say bye to a car than it is to your son or daughter, because at least you know your kid will come visit you again. But a car? They won’t come back to you. Those bastards, they never gave two shits about you! 

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