I have to tell you we were elated when we bought a Suburban.  It has plenty of seating room for our 4 kids.  In fact, we could fit 2 more in there if space was all there was to take into consideration.  But since we've had our youngest, we have come to discover that there is one glaring weakness with our purchase.  The bench seat.  Yes thats right.  Some people deal with starvation, war torn countries, or soul-crushing diseases.  We have to deal with a bench seat.  There are a few things that happen each family outing that is making the bench seat a life force draining affair.  Allow me to paint a picture for you:

1. As I said, we have 4 kids now, the two least'uns being in car seats.  The other two aren't.  We have the two car seats in the middle row.  If you know anything about car seats, they are a nightmare from hell to buckle in, especially when they are right next to each other, and especially when the seat belt buckles always get stuck in the cracks of the seat, becoming next to impossible to get out with my fat hands.  SERENITY NOW!
2. This means there is an open spot between the two car seats...one that has become highly coveted among the two eldest.  The politicking and jockeying for this spot has become a force of nature in our family.
3. Its 110 degrees in Texas during the summer. 
   
4. Inevitably, each time we get in the car, there is a fight over who gets to sit by the baby, forcing me to put both of them in the back, which leads to more fighting and statements like, "you never let us do anything," or "I'm not going to play with you anymore."  These are directed at me, the evil despot who rules his Chevy Suburban with an iron fist. 
   
5. Then, there is the dramatic climb over the bench seat, which is always such an over the top dramatic affair accompanied by weeping and gnashing of teeth.  
6. Getting out is much more fun.  The near kicks to the baby's head are always a good time.  God forbid in all His mercy that our two kids wait the extra 15 seconds it takes for us to extract their defenseless brother.  
7. Its 110 degrees in Texas durig the summer.
8. These shenanagins happen at least 2 more times each outing, as we are forced to lump our torture sessions together to minimize mental trauma. 

Upon returning home, my wife and I look at each other, and after an understanding embrace and a vow not to kill our children, we go about our business.  This repeated bludgeoning has led us to lament the bench seat and dream of a paradise where Captain's seats are a reality, providing a nice and easy pass through where the children have no choice but to get in the back.  We all have our crosses to bear.  I would spare you from this one if you have the choice.  

I was 14, my dad freshly married to his beautiful new wife, and her 1982 Honda Accord sat unused in our driveway, being replaced by the then cool 1992 Toyota Celica convertible.  My brother was 16 and already driving, he in his Ford Escort with 2x15 inch speakers in the back. As if this weren't enough temptation for a 14 year old to drive prematurely, I was horribly insecure with a face full of acne and newly divorced parents.  I needed to be cool.  And so I took it upon myself to take the new step mom's car, which later came to be known as the Silver Bullet, on its maiden voyage to my friend Don's house. 

I had everything to gain and nothing to lose.  Underage driving is something that is still pretty taboo even today.  So the sheer amount of street credit to be garnered by me pulling into my friend's driveway driving myself, and not being dropped off like a child, was substantial.  His mom was even impressed!  I assured her that my dad knew I had the car.  I was lying, and she knew it.  But it didn't matter.  This was not only the maiden voyage of the Silver Bullett.  This was MY maiden voyage into a new realm of possibilities, and I would not be deterred.  I could drive now. 

To be continued...           

...Paris Hilton did buy a pink Bentley.  According to the article, the car and custom work totaled $200,000.  Of course I don't judge Paris Hilton.  Our versions of reality are showing in different theatres, at different release dates, in different languages, and in different countries.  This just helps me to understand the gaping chasm between Hollywood and the rest of us.  Yet they still set the pace for how our culture runs.  Interesting.  Read the article here.  

This is the second installment of Car Tales.  Read the first one here.   

It is natural for a teenage boy to want to explore.  His sense of adventure is part of who he is.  It is no surprise then when one goes looking for such adventure in the midst of a suburban culture that doesn't really provide it.  It was during one of these times of dissatisfaction that my friends and I decided the Super Nintendo was not going to cut it, and that we needed to go on a road trip.  Now everyone knows that teenage road trips, by their very definition, are incapable of turning out positively.  No money, no planning or vision, and no purpose.  Not a real solid business plan.  But there we were, 4 teenagers with $30 between us and a wide open highway.  We had our wits, our snacks from home, our music, and our illusions that our lives were so stressful that we just needed a break.  We wanted to get out of the nest and test out our wings.  We wanted to enjoy our youthful sense of trailblazing adventure.  We wanted to boldly go where no high schooler had ever gone before!  It only makes sense, then, that we would drive to Oklahoma City, the apparent cosmopolitan culture hub of our immediate region.  

With the pedal to the metal in the Silver Bullet, we set off at 10pm on our 2 hour journey north from our hometown of Denton, Texas.  No one's parents knew they were going.  We were on our own.  As is appropriate, Born to be Wild was playing.  Side note: We thought we identified with all classic rock from the 60's and early 70's, assuming that the musicians and artists of the movement were wise, and not realizing that most of them wrote their stuff when they were 19 and on drugs.  As mentioned above, we had no idea what we were going to do in OKC.  We assumed we would find either a party or a really cheap motel.  We didn't find a party.  We did find a cheap motel.  We never made it to our destination.  

It was about halfway through LA Woman by the Doors (we thought Jim Morrison was a "genius") when the steering wheel jerked over to the left, and I lost control of the Silver Bullet.  We ended up in the grass median of I-35, right outside the cozy little town of Pauls Valley, OK.  Far short of our destination, we coaxed the Silver Bullet back across the highway and on to the off ramp, up to the intersection of Highway 19, and turned right to find the Garden Inn of Pauls Valley, which would be our home for the next 3 days.  We were told that the CV Joint was "messed up" on the Bullet, and that it would take a few days to repair.  Our dwindling food supplies and low cash flow meant that we might have to bring our parents up to speed on our little road trip.  But we weren't ready to give up.  Instead, we hatched an elaborate scheme where friends from home would shuttle cash, food supplies, and people back and forth.  We were all working in shifts to keep the dream alive.  In the meantime we would continue to lie to our parents through phone calls purporting to be from Denton.   

After three days we got the Silver Bullet back in working condition.  By that time there was about 10 of us loitering around Pauls Valley, and we headed back in caravan fashion.  We had almost made it out of Oklahoma unscathed...almost.  As it turns out, the one friend who had done most of the shuttling traded places with me and had his car break down.  It was more than all of us could take.  Our funds exhausted, our teeth rotting from eating Star Crunches and Twinkies for 3 days straight, and our heads longing for our suburban pillows, we were forced to call in the parental reinforcements.  They swooped in, mopped up, and bailed us out.  My poor friend got the worst of the backlash.  He lost his car for months, and we had to shuttle him around Denton like a 15 year old.  

Was it worth it?  Who knows.  It wasn't really that fun.  We didn't do anything all day but watch the 3 fuzzy channels in our motel room.  But it was OUR motel room.  It was OUR freedom that was being excersized.  And it was OUR sense of adventure that was satisfied.  After our 3 day tour of duty in the real world, we were content to crawl back into our big houses with our video games.  But our contentment was not to last.  If anything, this ill fated trip opened up a new frontier of exploration for us, which in the near future would prove to hold many other poorly planned adventures in the Silver Bullet.   

Stay tuned...

The Silver Bullet
My first car was a grey two-toned 1982 Honda Accord, which my friends and I dubbed “The Silver Bullet.”  Forget about the fact that it wasn’t silver.  We didn’t know the difference.  It was given to me by my then new step-mom, Sharon, who in spite of my horrid treatment of her during the early years of her marriage to my dad, somehow managed to overlook my insolence and let me have her old car. 

The Silver Bullet served me well throughout my high school days.  Of course every 16 year old boy would like to have a brand new monster truck with mounted machine guns for his first automobile, or an old muscle car he rebuilt with his dad out in the garage.  But that wasn’t to be.  Machine gun mounted trucks are illegal and dad sells insurance.  He leases cars.  He doesn’t build them.  So I was like most suburban kids.  My first car was given to me.  It wasn’t ideal, but it was free, and it ran.  In addition, the speedometer said it went to 120mph, which made the car seem a little more high-end (even if it really topped out at 80 going downhill). 

To come are some now legendary tales of The Silver Bullet.  They are stories of adventure, friendship, and self sacrifice.  You will meet friends and you will meet villains.  Of course you will come to realize that all of it is nothing short of a study in adolescent idiocy.  So get in your time machine, turn on your high school music (Metallica and Rage Against the Machine for me), and put on your seatbelt.  We are going for a ride in my first car, The Silver Bullet. 

 Talk with you soon...