When I graduated high school, my first car was a humble Chevy Chevette, which my parents handed down to me. It was functional and reliable, but my heart was set on a vibrant red VW Golf. To me, it embodied everything fun and youthful about being a teenager.
As I began my college search, my parents, particularly my mother, insisted I apply only to schools in our state of Connecticut. This felt like a strategic move to steer me toward her top pick, Fairfield University, a mere 20 minutes from home. Naturally, I resisted, but she persisted, even arranging multiple campus tours to sway my decision. Eventually, she made an enticing offer: “If you choose Fairfield, we’ll buy you any car you want.”
As a naive teen, I took the bait and applied to Fairfield, fully expecting to receive my dream Golf upon acceptance. However, when I reminded my mother about the car deal, she casually laughed it off, saying it was only valid if I commuted from home. I quickly realized I had overlooked the fine print. Living at home during college was not an appealing option for me, and I began my university experience without a car, feeling cheated out of what I thought was a fair trade.
Fast forward four years, just before my graduation from Fairfield, my parents called me with exciting news. “We have a graduation gift for you,” my mother exclaimed. “It’s a CAR!!” I was elated, convinced they were finally delivering on their promise. I immediately showered them with gratitude, eagerly asking, “Is it the red Golf?”
“No, it’s a Toyota!” my mother replied, her tone oddly cheerful. My excitement wavered, but I held onto hope. “What model?” I inquired, only to be met with an awkward pause.
“It’s a Corona,” she finally admitted.
“A what?” I asked, puzzled. My knowledge of Toyotas was limited to Corollas and Camrys. “What year is it?” I pressed, sensing something was off.
“1979,” she answered hesitantly.
My disbelief grew. They had bought me an old, used car instead of the one I had dreamed about. Shouldn’t I have had a say in this? I was a college graduate, after all. In my frustration, I voiced my thoughts to my mother, inadvertently labeling myself as “spoiled” and “ungrateful” before she hung up on me, leaving me with a mix of confusion and regret.
Despite the disappointment, I recognized the gesture was generous, especially given the recession of the early ’90s. I called back, apologized, and thanked them sincerely. After graduating, I moved back home and saw the Corona for the first time. It was a faded silver, with an interior that had seen better days. As I attempted to drive it for the first time, the car sputtered and coughed, making my commute feel like a near-death experience.
Eventually, my parents acknowledged that I needed a more reliable vehicle, so I ended up swapping cars with my mother for her 1988 Mercury Tracer. As for the legendary Corona? It passed through several family members before my cousin took it off our hands. Eventually, it met its end in a rather comical fashion, being found by police after a failed theft attempt, sitting lifeless in a commuter lot.
The Corona’s legacy became one of confusion and disappointment, reminding me that sometimes, life’s unexpected gifts don’t always come wrapped in shiny bows.
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Summary
Navigating the complexities of parental expectations and graduation gifts can be tricky. This article recounts one graduate’s experience with an unexpected car gift from her parents, filled with humor and life lessons.
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