My very first vehicle was a used Honda Civic that my parents had owned for a few years when I took the wheel during my senior year of high school. It was reliable, practical, and unpretentious. But what I truly desired was a vibrant, sporty Mini Cooper—small, fun, and the embodiment of my youthful spirit.
As I began the college application process, my parents, especially my father, narrowed my options to local institutions in our home state. This was, I believe, his subtle attempt to steer me toward his preferred choice: State University, conveniently located just 15 minutes away. This was the LAST place I wanted to go, primarily because it felt too close to home. Despite my protests, my father persisted. He took me on campus tours, insisting we visit again on a sunny day to make the experience more enticing. However, the proximity to home remained unchanged, and I could sense his watchful eye hovering nearby. Then, he made me a tempting offer.
“If you choose State University,” he declared, “we’ll get you the car you want.”
Being an impressionable teenager, I eagerly accepted this apparent bribe. I submitted my application to State, was accepted, and signed my enrollment papers, eagerly anticipating the keys to my desired Mini Cooper. When my hand remained empty, I reminded my father of our agreement.
“Oh, the car?” he dismissed with a chuckle. “That’s only if you live at home and commute.”
Clearly, I hadn’t read the fine print. Living at home during college was not something I envisioned for my independence. So, my college journey began without a car, residing on campus, and with a lingering feeling of being misled.
Fast forward four years, just before graduation, I received an exciting call from my parents.
“We have a graduation surprise for you!” my father exclaimed. “We got you…a CAR!!”
I was overwhelmed with gratitude and renewed confidence in my parents, who were finally delivering on their earlier promise. I expressed my thanks multiple times and then asked, “So, is it the Mini Cooper?”
“No, it’s a Nissan!” my father responded. Something in his tone felt off, slightly too enthusiastic.
“What model?” I inquired.
There was an uncomfortably long pause.
“It’s a Sentra,” my father replied, his voice now uncertain.
My excitement waned as I recalled the earlier promise of my dream car. “What year?” I probed, trying to maintain my composure.
“1985,” he said.
“You—bought me—a 1985—Nissan—SENTRA???” I stammered, disbelief washing over me. They purchased me a vehicle that was over 30 years old? Shouldn’t I have had a say in this? As a college graduate, I felt entitled to some input.
In sharing my feelings with my father, I made the mistake of expressing my disappointment. I don’t remember his exact words, but I recall hearing “spoiled,” “ungrateful,” and “brat” before the call ended abruptly. I was left with a dial tone and a mix of confusion and guilt—a cocktail of emotions that would linger throughout my twenties.
Despite the details, my parents had gifted me a car, a thoughtful gesture, especially during a challenging economic time. I had to accept it and embrace adulthood. I called back to apologize and express my gratitude. After graduating, I returned home, eager to see the Sentra for the first time.
Upon arrival, I discovered it was a faded blue, its paint resembling primer more than a finish. The interior was a worn gray, and it had a shape that was reminiscent of a bygone era. But looks aren’t everything, right? I reassured myself even as I sat at my first stoplight, where the car sputtered ominously.
Ultimately, realizing I needed a more reliable vehicle for my new job, I traded with my father, who had a practical 1994 Ford Escort. The Sentra eventually found its way to my younger brother, who attempted to make the best of it, dubbing it “Old Reliable.” After several repairs, my family decided to part with it, and a cousin offered to take it. However, after an attempted theft, it was found abandoned, unable to escape its past.
In summary, the experience with that Nissan Sentra taught me valuable lessons about expectations, gratitude, and the complexities of adult relationships.
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