She's been puttering around in a 2002 Hyundai Elantra for a little more than nine years, ever since some asshole stole the Mitsubishi Mirage she inherited after we bought the Subaru Forester from in front of the house on a Saturday night/Sunday morning when she was home from college. Yeah, good times.
Like the Mirage, the Elantra was a manual transmission and she's very pleased and proud of herself that she can handle stick like ringing a bell. As well she should be as she's in a very select company. Friday evening she asked me what I was up to on Saturday afternoon and, as I've been trained by her mother for four-plus decades, I knew to correctly answer, "whatever you'd like to do." As it turns what she wanted to do was to shop for a new car.
Very much her mother's daughter, she already decided on the car, a Chevy Cruze, and the color, some form of beautiful blue with (of course) a manual transmission and at some point had found someplace locally that had what she thought might just be the car.
Before we ever got to the dealer, she had researched auto insurance coverage and the premiums had already decided as a consequence to say farewell to her current carrier and had started the paperwork for a car loan, understanding the amount she was financing and the lending rate.
We never covered in Dad School what it was I was supposed to be while my daughter was buying a car so I had to improvise and do nothing. That was just about all I could muster anyway. The longer I sat with her at the dealership the more I wondered why I was actually there at all until I realized I needed to sit back and enjoy the view.
The daughter her mother raised has, like her brother, our son, become a remarkably well-equipped adult, spreading her wings and not just flying but soaring.
-bill kenny
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