We mark the moments when we shift to a different stage of our lives. The person that emerges from that moment is different than the person who entered it. Your first kiss, your first paycheck and your first moment with your child are just some of those rites of passage that we experience. We anticipate (or perhaps even fear) these moments because we know we can’t go back to the way things used to be but we also need these because they may make life better.
We just passed one of these angst filled rites of passage, one that so many dread and make definitive declarations about how they will never do it. We now own a minivan.
The minivan is the ultimate function over form. Its big, looks like a loaf of bread, and it’s sexiest feature allows you to collapse the seats to make more storage. It conveys to the world “Hey, I don’t care about impressing you anymore, I’m going in comfort.” Minivan, the sweatpants of vehicles.
Even still, it was a no-brainer for us. The car was good to us, but watching Eva eat her knees while sitting in it just showed that it wasn’t working for us. We also had started to reach critical mass with Christmas. The CR-V is great, but packing for a trip back to Iowa and lugging home gifts was getting difficult. Plus, whenever we’d have visitors it would be nice to all pile into one vehicle instead of two.
We decided to go with the Odyssey. We were already in the Honda family with the CR-V and have loved it so far. We did check out all the minivan options at the Dayton Auto Show, and still came away with wanting the Odyssey.
(This next paragraph will make high school Scott and any gear head die a little inside.)
The features of the Odyssey are pretty neat. Push button start, a door that unlocks by just putting your hand on the handle, easy hideaway rear seats, climate control, push button calls via your Bluetooth device, and sliding apart mid row seats (perfect for adjusting your car seats).
We decided to sell the car on our own. Not as awesome as you’d think it would be. We placed ads a few places on-line and the responses can be categorized like this:
(From California) “Is your AD still available for sale. Shipper coming to look at it. Do you have paypal so i can send payment now?”
“Hi, about ur addvartizzmennt on the innterrrnet. Pls msg me at (gmail) to kconfirrrm pprricee and avvaillabbility.”
Probably a Scam
“It still For sale ? please reply me back asap to my personal email at (gmail) because am unable to reply back on this number this my office number. Bye”
Text msg from one Gmail that lists the contact as another Gmail. Also asks for rock bottom price after being listed for less than 12 hours.
As with any response, could be a scam (picture they sent was not their car, their car is a lemon, etc.)
The Promising Lead (that isn’t)
Every contact was from a long distance number (not unusual with an Air Force Base near and cell phones), but we got one from a local number who wanted to see it. Gave him a potential time and place and…never heard back. Could have lost interest in the 10 minutes I took to reply, or since I offered to meet at a public place he figured out he couldn’t use my bathroom and steal my meds.
The “Helping” Hands
On the Monday after the ad posted, three different websites called to offer their services in selling our car for a nominal fee. How generous! Special algorithms! Dedicated experienced sellers! How could I lose!
We refreshed our Craigslist ad and boom we got a solid car offer. We met the next morning before work, and finished the sale at lunch. One less thing to worry about.
The Acura was just an object in some ways. It got us from Point A to Point B, but in some ways it meant so much more. It was Steph’s first newish car which always will hold a little place in her heart.
It’s place in our family history is cemented in more than that. Point A to B was Omaha to Dayton, bringing us to where our family would grow. The car carried our growing family around, and when funds were needed to bring Eva home the car provided them. Then once our family outgrew it, the car provided once last great test drive, one last great impression, and one last infusion of money towards that minivan. The car wasn’t so much a vehicle, but a Shel Silverstein’s “The Giving Car”, it’s last deed was to give itself up for our family.