Over 150,000 miles of moments happened in this car. It’s funny the things we get attached to, like a car your kids decided to name Moby (because he is blue and shaped like a whale). I (we) lived out of that car.
My daughter had more dinners that I can recall, on the way to gymnastics, in that car.
My son (and friends) quickly grew too tall to jump in the third row.
First days of school drop offs, movies, high school football games and first dates (I can still see her first boyfriend in my rearview mirror; what can I say he is my fave), and late night pick ups after parties.
Listening to the awful Marilyn Manson music she played every morning during 8th grade. Or maybe the coffee song he played on repeat was worse. And a gazillion rounds of eye-spy using only what was in the car.
Oh and the arguments, so many arguments while trying to teach them how to drive.
His excitement for every road trip (when he was little) equal to her dreading the hours in the car.
All of it and more happened in that car. I drove it for 10 years, most of them as a young mom to one teenage girl and a little boy. Yeah, it looked like crap today, inside and out, and it made some weird sounds, none of which came from the radio because that no longer worked. But today, it’s off to an organization that will sell it and donate the proceeds to a children’s charity. That makes me happy.
So I stood there in my garage and thought about all these memories and felt a bit silly at feeling emotional about bidding farewell to this car so I did the most logical thing, I made a picture. Something tangible to hold all those memories and I think Moby flashed me a smile.
(Impossible Film Polaroid 600)