Did I have a car in high school?

Heck no! Kids who got their own cars were the ones not going to college because their parents were spoiling them now. That’s what my parents said, anyways, making the same prediction about kids who had TVs in their rooms, underground pools, and bicycles with more than one speed.

If I played my cards right, I got to borrow one of their cars for work and errands. And on a couple really memorable occasions, I actually got to take my mom’s Chevy Chevelle to school AND nab one of the coveted “for seniors only” parking spots when I got there. My dad had a little yellow Toyota company car he’d let me use sometimes, too, even though he was probably breaking some corporate rules when he did. Nice automatic transmission and really gnarly manual steering.

Most days I walked to school. Until the spring of my senior year when Dana started giving me rides along the way. He had a sweet forest green MG convertible, and I could hear it purring along in back of me as he’d catch up with me somewhere on Walnut Street. Which, thinking back on it now, makes me sort of curious because I’m pretty sure he lived way on the other side of town and should not have been on my school route. But, hey, a ride was a ride back then. And it didn’t hurt that I was the only passenger in the coolest ride in school! I assumed Dana never went to college and just kept riding around after graduation for as long as he was able to afford MG maintenance with a non-degree job. I’ll never know, but I was glad to be part of letting him be spoiled now versus more successful later. Actually, I’m pretty sure Dana wanted to be more than just my chauffer. He was a super nice guy, and we hung out together during the senior class trip and in other group, didn’t-count-as-a-date settings. I actually considered how really neat it would be to date a guy with such a cool car, how the prom pictures would look and riding around York Beach in that thing! But, sweet as he was, Dana didn’t really match the car, if you know what I mean. And I was already taken by Tom, my future husband, who used to ride his bike over to my house when he came home from college because his parents didn’t want to spoil him by lending him the car.


For more autobiographical Q&As than you’ll have time to read, see
Building my life story one question at a time