You're a block head, Charlie Brown: Identity and automobiles in modern America
You're a block head, Charlie Brown
Identity and automobiles in modern America
I walked into my husband's art studio and discovered him researching Birkenstock clogs and sandals. The shoes had been adopted by a generation of hippies and maintain a cachet within certain circles. His recent auto accident, the total loss of his beloved Subaru, had sent him into a spiral. I found him journeying down a rabbit hole of remorse and memory. He jokingly said, "Owning the Subaru made me part of a Brotherhood. Or is it Sisterhood? A Lesbianhood?" Charmed by his brief association with fellow lesbian Richard Gere, I smiled and conveyed the obligatory There, there sentiment, and left him to his memories.
The morning before he had fallen asleep on his drive home. The 2023 Subaru had gently swayed off the road, hit a tree, gone airborne, hit another tree, and landed sideways in the ditch. At least that's what the driver behind him saw because Lance has no memory of the accident. It took him hours to settle down afterwards and will take him many more days and weeks to forgive himself as he moves through his loss.
I have neither been sentimental nor forgiving in the hours and days following the total loss of his car and my sense of financial security. As the secretary, accountant, and business manager, among my many other duties which fall into to the arena of modern wife, I have had to face reality: sensibility, not sentimentality; business and resolve, not blubbering and reminiscence. After 30 months, the Subaru Crosstrek had been paid off in October. I had signed onto a 48 month plan and 18 months early, the loan was closed. I had planned for 18 months of extra savings but now I await the title of a now dead car to arrive in mail. Confronted by the prospect of taking on debt has been infuriating in a time of 4% Fed rates. Since the crash I spent nearly 12 hours each day, weighing the numbers, trying to find the best rates, and a replacement.
The other evening I received a desperate call from my daughter, crying and making little sense. Immediately I wondered if she too had been in a car accident. No, it had been a kitchen accident and she was bleeding from a knife cut. I went into Mom-Medic mode, or Medic-Mom mode as I had been a medic longer than my nearly 30 years of motherhood. I talked her through assessing the injury, applying first aid, and attempted to calm her. Mom mode surpassed medic as the bleeding was staunched in the distal tip of her ring finger. I realized her pain, quite real, could only be soothed in person. I borrowed the remaining car, my son's KIA Soul, and spent a couple of hours briefly wrapping her wound and mostly embracing her on the couch.
Nearing midnight, I found myself on empty roads returning home. The cold snap kept the deer, armadillos, and racoons tucked away and I had the quiet ride home with only my thoughts. Dark, with a clear sky and bright stars, I thought back to night rides with my Dad. An avid amateur astronomer, he has spent his adult life following president Kennedy's dream of reaching for the stars. My childhood included solar eclipses as an infant: I was told that we once drove 4 hours for the best viewing. Mark Twain's story of Halley's comet was recounted as my sister and I stood outside my Dad's home to watch its 76 year return. There have been numerous views of lunar eclipses and a rush to view my birthday celebration of an annual meteor shower, even a solo journey on top of my car on a dark lonely country road.
I have passed along my Dad's love of the magnificent celestial view to my children with solar and lunar eclipses and star showers. I also shared with them this story which amused me for years. My Dad, a fastidious, neat man and adopter of new tech, was quick to buy a car with a moon roof. He had a habit of keeping his cars very clean. We would sit sideways and bump off any dirt from our shoes, then place our feet on grocery paper bags laid across the floor mats. On one of his star gazing night drives my sister and I were viewing the constellations through the moon roof as he drove along announcing each of the constellations he saw through the window. Excitedly, he announced, "Look! Orion!" and promptly veered off the road and into a ditch. No harm. No foul. He quickly righted the car and resumed driving but we all had a good laugh over the excitement with caused him to break from his mold. It is a story repeated with good humor and a loving nudge as something which defied his typical demeanor.
At some point on the ride home from my daughter's that night I realized the ease of driving my son's car, the KIA Soul. It is boxy and roomy. It has a bit of pep for its size. Overall, it feels like I'm sitting on a comfy chair in a room with expansive views. Through the large front window, the stars were easy to see and Orion came into focus as I stopped at an intersection. It felt right somehow. The straight lines. The feeling of security wrapped inside this delivery box on wheels. It was my turn to select a car. Would I choose another Soul for myself?
After VW rereleased the Beetle, Mattel Toys adopted the car as a Barbie-mobile. Pink and yellow toy versions were released. Young women adopted the life-size car in droves. Ornamentation followed with cup holders for fresh flowers and Barbie stickers. Dolls showed up on dashboards. Giant applique flowers were added to doors and hoods. The car of the flower children had been adopted by a generation of Barbie lovers. It went from being a hippie ride to a girl car. This and its exaggerated egg like shape became a bit of a joke.
At the time children's author Daniel Pinkwater was a guest contributor on NPR. He penned a wonderful story about how the new Beetle had become his favorite car. Pinkwater, who has an egg shaped body, found that he fit perfectly behind the wheel. If Daniel Pinkwater saw himself as egg shaped, was I a blockhead, a Charlie Brown for feeling at home in the KIA Soul? Certainly most days living with Lance, AKA Brain Damage Boy as I affectionately call him, it seems I am kicking at things always out of my reach, that life is playing a joke on us. Man makes plans. The gods laugh and pull the ball away and we end up on our ass over and over again.
Eventually I gave up the idea of a Soul for myself, opting for a cheaper version of a Toyota Camry I previously owned, a new Sonata. As the accident insurance claim winds its way through the payout process, I have decided to ferry Lance to work each night through the end of the year. Sometime in January I'll begin looking for a used Subaru. The way the car cushioned him in airbags inside the cage frame of the body has sold me on its safety. As for Lance's priorities, Subaru was one of the few cars to offer CD players through 2023 as standard issue and Lance must have his music for the ride. Besides, he has become quite enamored by the sisterhood of the Seven Stars, the Pleiades cluster within the Taurus constellation which adorns every Subaru logo. I can't say if it's in the stars to find an affordable replacement early next year, but I know he's wishing on a star to get the exact model to replace the old Subaru.
