Teen Getaway

Sunday's print column, better late than never. Had to take a break from politics, etc., for a day, in the interest of sanity.

For the last week, I've been driving a time machine.

Last weekend, my family and I traveled to my ancestral homeland to visit my dad. While we were there, our Chrysler Pacifica developed an issue. The issue couldn't be addressed until Monday.

The Pacifica needs to be swapped for something newer. I've had my eye on one of those new Chevy Camaros. My wife says that's impractical. What she's really saying is that such a purchase would make me a sad, midlife cliche. I don't have a good defense to that.

Yes, a Camaro would haul only a couple of bags of mulch. But I would love making several trips.

I digress. On Sunday, we returned home in my dad's white, 1991 Cadillac Seville. It's not a big car. In fact, it's downright stubby by Cadillac standards. My parents bought it long after I left the nest.

But what makes it a time machine is its uncanny similarities to the first car I ever drove - a white, 1981 Pontiac Bonneville. With the Cadillac's expanse of white metal in front of me, and that big tan steering wheel in my hands, providing all the responsiveness of a cruise ship wheel, I couldn't help but feel remarkably 16-ish.

The Bonneville was a boat. It was a two-door, with hatches rivaling the space shuttle. Its interior was tan and it had a Pioneer cassette deck that lasted through roughly two good plays of Van Halen's “5150.” Dang. And I will never forget the first time I drove that car without parental supervision.

I got my license in August 1986, but my parents were reluctant to cut me loose. My dad taught driver's ed for decades, so he knew trouble when he saw it. But at a September football game, my friends begged me to sever the surly bonds of parental worry and cruise. My dad solemnly turned over the keys. We were off.

It was frightening, and then exhilarating. And the excitement made one of my friends hungry. He demanded a turtle sundae from A&W. The turn onto the drive-through ramp was super tight. The USS Bonneville couldn't make it. I scraped the driver's side from stem to stern against the restaurant. People ran outside to see what happened. I sped away, leaving the sundae melting in the drive-through window. If we had texting back then, it was clearly OMG.

What followed was one of the longest drives home of my life. But my dad had compassion and a very low deductible.

It's too bad that between then and now, driving around, like so many other things, has lost much of its exhilarating luster - spinning in the snow, telling the kids to stop touching each other, etc.

But for a few days this week, I remembered. And that brings us back to the Camaro.

Comments: (319) 398-8452; todd.dorman@sourcemedia.net

I'd love to read any stories you want to share about your first cars. I know it's not as much fun as figthing about marriage, but, hey,  give it a shot.