At Any Speed

For a while there, I was feeling a little deflated about our family car. We own a Saturn wagon, and when word came down that part of the dismantling of Chrysler was the elimination of the entire Saturn brand. Late last year the remainder of the company's assets were sold to Motors Liquidation Company. Not a lot of hope there.
In my mind, I toyed with the notion of getting in on the "Cash for Clunkers" program. Why not step up from our disenfranchised wagon and into a hybrid something or other? It would be good for the planet, after all, and Al Gore would be so proud. Then I considered the eventual resting place of our old car. Would it be parted out or sold for scrap? Could it be a new start for another family looking for reliable transportation? That was why we bought it in the first place. I could imagine that with proper care and feeding that it would continue going from here to there for another decade.
So why would I sell it? Why not keep it clean and healthy and skip the risk and heartbreak that major purchases always seem to bring? I kept hearing a line from a Bruce Springsteen song in my head: "Now, mister, the day my numbers comes in I ain't ever gonna ride in no used car again." My dad used to buy new cars. I think it helped him somehow to feel in control of his destiny. When I looked out the window, I could see my destiny sitting in the driveway.
Cash for Clunkers came and went without me, and I tried not to get caught up in any regrets. Now there are millions of Honda and Toyotas being recalled for safety issues: brakes, accelerators, air bags. Any regrets I may have had gave way to relief. I imagined my family hurtling down an icy patch of highway with a stuck gas pedal, and smiled. Forget Al Gore. Where's Ralph Nader when we need him?