I didn't get my driver's license until I was seventeen. I was not overly eager to reach this milestone. I'll be honest - I had a boyfriend with both a license and a car. I was good to go.
Besides, I broke my wrist a few days shy of my sixteenth birthday. (Yep, the wrist injury goes back that far.) They put me in a cast that encased my whole lower arm and my thumb. I was in it for six weeks before they took it off, x-rayed my wrist, then put another one back on for an additional month and a half. It's hard to use a stick shift when you don't have the use of your thumb.
Anyway, I did get my license, and I drove my mom's 1984 Nissan Stanza, which wound up being my own car after I graduated from high school.
It looked just like this, only it was red. This, coincidentally, looks just like the car my step-dad used to drive. Yep, my parents owned matching cars. More than once, actually. That might need to wait for another post.
I drove this car pretty much to its death. While I was going to college, I worked part time for a family with two boys, ages six and seven. I hung out with them for several hours every day, and I'd take them with me to run errands. They always thought it was hilarious when we'd go and wash my car. It had so many leaks around the doors and windows that it was their job to hold towels up to keep the inside dry while the water poured in.
Oh, memories.
I sold my Stanza in early 1995. I was about to be married that March, and it had broken down. Again. I was told that I'd have to put a lot more money in it than it was worth to keep it going, so I decided that I could add to my wedding fund by selling it.
It was a good car. It not only provided me with years of transportation, but also gifts for my wedding party. You can't say that about many vehicles now, can you?
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