Auto Biography VIII

“The Bumblebee’s Camaro”

1990. Ter was starting her first fulltime government job and I was working graveyards at the radio station for $6.00 an hour. Blue Silver was our primary mode of transport, but with my odd hours and Ter now working 9 to 5, one vehicle was going to be challenged. We were living out of town and, as my younger older brother once described it, the bus service to and from consisted of “Three buses a week and all on Monday morning.”

It was time for Ter to buy herself a car.

She had admired the 1980s Chev Camaro for as long as I had known her. When she pictured herself owning a car, that was the one. She fancied the Berlinetta model, but has never been that stubborn about compromise. She came home one day all pumped about seeing a 1987 Camaro parked by the roadside with a “for sale” sign in its window and wanted me to go with her to see it.

You’re supposed to dream about the car of your dreams; that’s why it’s called the car of your dreams. You’re not supposed to own one from the get-go. That was my belief, anyway. Our family vehicles had always been previously-owned, functional for the purpose, and apparently expensive to maintain. We have no mechanics in the family, so whenever something went wrong with the car, it was a costly pain in the posterior for my parents. I grew up expecting the same fate to befall me, so despite my passion for the art of automotive design, Thunder had been chosen for practicality over aesthetics. Silver had been far less realistic given my financial situation, but she was a classic Mustang, end of argument.

Ter grew up in the big city. Neither parent drove, so there had been no family car. She learned to drive in 1985, taking her road test in my Dodge and sharing Silver until it became evident that a second vehicle might be in order. Her auto experience so differed from mine that it never occurred to her that she should start small with something practical, like a Toyota Corolla or a Honda Civic. She had no idea that you work your way up to a sportscar. Naturally, I didn’t tell her any of this; I figured she would look at the car, decide it was too expensive, too big, too far beyond her reach, and let it go.

She didn’t. She bought it.

In her purest state, Ter is a bumblebee with absolutely no concept that her aerodynamics make flight impossible. If she wants something badly enough, she simply makes it happen. I have seen her will in action countless times over the years and, good or bad, it remains one of the world’s unsung wonders. One of my favourite stories is of her dad sitting out with one of his cronies when she drove her snappy new prize into the parking lot at their apartment building. Dad’s pal said to him, “Is that her boyfriend’s car?”

Dad proudly replied, “No, it’s my daughter’s.”

He knew.