Fare thee well, Big Red

Tomorrow will be a bittersweet day. It's the day I'm picking up by brand-spanking-new CRV, and it's also the day I bid farewell to Big Red. It may seem odd for a girly-girl like myself to be so attached to a car. I think most would agree that she's probably not so fond of me, owing to the fact that I wrecked her pretty badly...twice...in three years (but not once since 2002).

The thing is, she's been in my family since she was born...er, built...in 1997. I remember clearly the day my mom pulled up to the freshmen carpool line in her. I remember traveling to "away" football games with her loaded down with friends. I remember what a big deal it was when I got to take her all the way to Hillsboro, packed full of fellow seniors, to watch a high school basketball game during Corrigan. I remember when Mom and Dad finally relinquished her to me (after I'd ripped off my Firebird's ground effects on all the speedbumps around Baylor).

Since she officially became mine in college she's taken road trips across Texas and across the country. She took mye to mywedding and my honeymoon, Nick's and my first apartment, and hauled all of my most precious belongings to South Carolina. She spent six months hauling my butt back and forth from Sumter to graduate school and back again every weekday! She even made it to a real Gamecock tailgate party or two.

So you can see that it's no small thing for me to give her up. She's never once complained about her old age. She's never had so much as squeaky brakes or a flat tire much less a major breakdown or part failure. I know that the mechanic says I have to let her go, that she is too tired to carry on much longer without some major help, but I have to admit that even the prospect of a sparkling new car is not enough to make me feel glad to give up Big Red.

Big Red, I will miss you, and not just when I'm trying to pack all of our Christmas luggage into the new, smaller, CRV. I will miss the way your cheery red color stood out in a packed parking lot. I will miss the place where your console is so worn from my elbow resting on it that it has a little indention just the right size. I'll miss the gritty stains on your floor mats, each one a reminder of a trip to Wendy's with my buddies or a near-miss accident, avoided thanks to your excellent handling. I will miss your ability to carry me and four of my friends and all of our stuff for a weekend trip, no problem. I will miss the way you proudly bear your Texas license plates and tags. I will miss your dignity, even in the face of certain abandonment. I will miss all of the precious memories that you were a part of.

My greatest hope is that the good people at the Honda dealership can fix you up and get you settled with a nice family. Maybe one with a teenage girl with a good heart and a slightly leaden foot. I hope you enjoy your new life, but please don't forget about me.