Tonight, a development. Nay, a breakthrough.
Everything I know about finances, I learned from my father. This gentleman is also he who forced me to surrender my first vehicle because he feared for its reliability. I waved goodbye to the glorious 1999 Suburban of a mere 150,000 miles before I left for college. In fairness, I note that he did replace it with a 2005 Nissan Xterra, which I still drive to this day (surely not his original vision). So when I explained the premise of our venture: to buy three archaic vehicles with unknown service histories — for the smallest outlay possible — from potentially disreputable Internet users in California, he was… notably concerned. As our departure approaches, I have attempted to show the vast wisdom of our financial considerations and precautions for the potential pitfalls of this adventure. My guess is not very convincingly, though he has demonstrated an agreeable amount of cautious optimism.
This evening, as I yet again spoke eagerly of my quest for a pickup, I started talking about about various sightings on Craigslist. I’d seen the usual assortment of Silverados, F150s, and Tacomas, but also the more modest Ford Ranger, Chevy S10, and suddenly — in unison — “a Mazda B2000!” — “in Red,” he added, a sparkle of nostalgia in his eye.
Don’t misread. I liked my Ford Pinto (his first vehicle; the model that had a tendency to explode). I liked our 1989 Suburban. And I like the 2011 Tahoe. But. I loved my Mazda B2000. During those long, miserable nights on-call at the VA in Galveston, I liked to walk by the window and look out at where I’d parked it.
I had no idea.
Mom emerged with a photo album.
That is not me. Meet my aunt Jennifer with cousins Ben and Peter. Uncle Billy, a preacher who hails from South Carolina, is not pictured, because, as my mother quoted (in an admirable impersonation of Billy’s impeccable Carolinian drawl), “I will visit you in Texas, but I will not ride in a ‘pick-up-truck.’” His disdain evident through her recitation of those three very separated syllables — “pick” “up” “truck”.
I was enthused. and Dad, elated, speaking with a reverence usually reserved for the dog (God rest his soul).
It would be rude to blame the dismissal of his beloved truck on Mom while we were supposed to be celebrating her birthday, but he did. “Well, she made me get rid of it — because of you!,” he exclaimed, pointing at me.
Tonight, I learned that my father owned a red 1984 Mazda B2000. He got rid of it because a family of three could not move cross-country in a two-seater.
I wonder if I can get it back.
Oh, if you buy a Mazda B2000, it’ll just bring a tear to my eye.
Cherry red, it has to be cherry red.
