CARS

   I'd like to think i inherited my car 'gene' from my grandfather.  My first awareness that there was actually a choice of cars and a reasoning behind it came from him and I learned at a very young age about pride by just going for a drive with my grandparents.
   I can still remember that feeling of sitting on the armrest in the back seat, my brothers on both sides of me in that shiny, silver Cadillac, Grandma Esther and Poppy in the front, dressed as always for an outing; her with her hair and make up flawless, wearing her mink coat and matching hat and him, with his suit, over coat, gloves and ever present Fedora.
   It never mattered where they were going, whether it be the New Jersey Turnpike or slow moving Bergenline Avenue in West New York, my grandfather always drove the same - 30 miles per hour, hands on the steering wheel at 10 and 2 o'clock, humming, always humming, and looking like he owned the world.
   I never forgot the look they always had about them. They seemed content, proud, affluent, satisfied.  Every once in a while, I would notice them grab each other's hand and my grandfather would bring hers to his lips and kiss it with such tenderness, I have never forgotten it.  Then  they would smile at each other as if they knew something no one else did.
   To me, that Cadillac was so much more than a car.  It was safety and happiness, protection and love.  My grandparents looked perfect in that car, but even more defining was that they belonged in it - together.
   The one thing that has stayed with me all these years was something Poppy told me while we were watching the Thanksgiving Parade on TV.  It was the early 1960's and one of the floats was a Cadillac, just like the one he had, with three big haired starlets wearing gowns and sashes and waving to the crowd.  My grandfather pointed to the screen beaming with pride.  I knew, even at that young age, what he meant, that instead of the three beauties in the car, that could have been the Prince Family.  That's what it felt like, to me, every time we went for a ride with them.
   And that's when he told me what would influence me for a lifetime.  In his thick Ukrainian accent, sounding  much like Boris Baninoff from the Rocky & Bullwinkle Show, he simply said, "Alvays drive something you could proudly put in parade."   He later explained it had nothing to do with money, with buying something expensive, but rather having something that made you feel  a certain way.  "If you can't put your car in  parade, you can't feel proud driving it, can't feel you deserve something special."

   From the moment I started driving, my grandfather's credo was something I've lived by.  I've never spent more than $3500 for any of the cars I've had, yet I've always been been lucky enough to have one that was parade worthy.  I understood exactly what Poppy meant all those years ago and am so grateful for it.  Some how, his rule changed me, gave me that sense of pride he spoke of so many times, made me special and deserving.
   My grandfather passed away decades ago, but I'd like to believe he is still watching over me, especially this past month when circumstances and finances forced me to sell my own beautiful, old, crumbling Cadillac and look for something reliable and cheap.  I was willing to drive anything at this point and was saddened yet resigned to owning something pedestrian.  I shopped around for cars and saw the only thing within my budget was an old red Ford Fiesta with a blue door.
   That night, I went online and looked at cars again.  And there, in my price range, was a late model Lincoln Continental that looked like it just came out of the showroom.  I answered the ad assuming it was a typo, that there was a zero or two missing from the cost and I would never hear back. But I did.
   The next day, I received a call from the seller.  It wasn't a typo, the Lincoln really was that cheap, there was absolutely nothing wrong with it and the reason for the sale was the death of the owner just weeks before and the uncertainty of his many surviving children on what to do with the car.  They had decided to list it online for a very short period of time for a ridiculously low price to solve the battles that incurred because they all wanted the car and couldn't decide among them who would get it.
   I know these sort of things don't happen, especially to me, but I also know I have a history, a legacy to fulfill and a need to carry on a family tradition, even if its only one I seem to abide by.  So now, when I'm driving my new, shiny parade worthy Lincoln, I can only smile, feel that old familiar pride and say with all sincerity, "Thanks, Poppy."