Why I Sold Out And Bought A Car.

Why I sold out and bought a car.

Mark Carpenter

I bought a car the other day. A van, really, and I’m very happy with it. I must admit that it corners like a dachshund on stilts, but other than that it is very practical and fun to drive.

Besides, I can finally visit my parents without facing that brave, martyred smile of my mother’s.

Several years ago I committed a mortal sin against my parents-especially my mother. A sin that has never quite been forgiven. I bought a motorcycle.

Since that time, I have relied on motorcycles for most of my transportation needs. I have used them to go to and from work, for sport and recreation. I have even ridden the things across the country twice. This experience, plus all the technological and safety advances in the sport of motorcycling fails to impress my parents.

For a couple of years, I was working back East, and things were all right. I didn’t mention motorcycles to them and they weren’t about to bring up the subject. This . past year, however, I moved back to Southern California and found myself living within 30 miles of my parents’ home.

When I started visiting regularly, I could tell that the bike still bothered them; my mother especially. She'd have a pinched look on her face whenever I’d ride up on the thing. It had been all right when I was on the other side of the continent, but when I moved back, she started worrying again. Living this close, she was really afraid that I’d come over some night and bleed all over her carpets. Her every natural instinct at that point screamed at her to bodily yank me off the motorcycle and tuck me safely (?) behind some Detroit sheet metal.

For a while I solved the problem by not visiting too often. But then my father got sick and I’d come down to help with some of the heavier yardwork and chores. We still had a pretty good relationship. Once I brought my laundry over, and my mother tie-dyed all of my underwear. It didn’t turn out too well, as she was just learning then, but it’s the thought that counts.

But the motorcycle still bothered her.

Finally, I began thinking about it. It was beginning to be a bore having to borrow or rent a car whenever I wanted to do something that required four wheels. So why not? And I bought the van.

I didn’t tell anybody about it. One day I just drove it down when I visited.

You should’ve seen her. My mother was so happy that she immediately volunteered to tie-dye some curtains for the van. My father perked up a little, too. He’d thought that pinched look of my mother’s was part of the change-oflife. Even the dog didn’t hide from me right away, as he always had when I’d ridden up on the bike.

Yep, the van is nice. I can take trips in it without having to worry about finding a motel or a place to sleep out. I can get a good view of the parades whenever one comes around, and there’s one other advantage that I didn’t mention to my mother:

There’s enough room inside for my motorcycle.