(Earlier this month, we received a generous gift from Jon Meinholz, a parishioner at Holy Faith Catholic Church and good friend of the house. We wore out our old truck over a year ago, and we didn’t realize how much we relied on it and how much of a real blessing it was to us until we had to do without it over the past year. Jon remedied that for us a few weeks ago. The following is from Kelli’s blog. You can read the whole post by clicking here.)
One of my horror stories from childhood was having to wash my father’s car every weekend – and cleaning the whitewall tires with a toothbrush. For no pay. That, and never being allowed to eat in the car and having to remove every last tiny bit of trash from it each time we got out, and heaven forbid we put something in the little ashtrays on the door handles. When we started driving, the lectures on removing all traces of sand from the bottom of our shoes, and never wiping the fog off the window or mirror with anything but Windex and a clean rag, and DO NOT LEAVE THE RADIO OR AIR CONDITIONER ON drove my teenager-self crazy. By the time I left home I was in full revolt – in my head at least – condemning my parents for being materialistic control freaks.
On my own, I drove cheap, ugly, trashy cars and happily added my own trash to them. I joked that my car was simply a closet on wheels and that I was not so shallow as to care what the thing looked like.
But time has taken its toll on my disdain, and as an adult – still driving old cars for the most part – I am getting why even a high-minded, self-righteous, non-materialist might deign to take care of one of them. They last longer…