TO MOVE ON

Dear Spike:

For a few years now we’ve been getting by in a 1993 Nissan Sentra. I did my best to vet it for problems — we must have taken six or seven different used cars to our mechanic, John, for inspection before settling on this one — but almost from the beginning it was obvious that we’d bought a problem car.

Immediately, we learned the seat belt alarm would go off whether we were strapped in or not. We came to think of this as the way the car — which we called Moroni (a Utah joke, which you’ll definitely understand if we raise you here) — would warn us against bad driving habits.

One hand on the wheel? Beep.

Nodding off on a long stretch of freeway? Beep. Beep.

Fiddling with the stereo when you should be watching the road? Beeeeeeeeeeeep.

A few months after we bought the car the transmission went out. Later, we realized it wouldn’t hold its alignment, an attribute that resulted in a few badly worn tires. The windshield seemed to be a magnet for flying rocks. The wipers never worked right. The paint was peeling and the doors didn’t always close.

So when I left to write about the war in Iraq, last year, I decided I would prefer your mother have a good car to drive to work and back. One less worry for me. One less worry for her. We bought a brand new Honda Civic and we’ve been very content with that purchase.

When I returned, I took Moroni — it was fine for the short ride to my office and back whenever the weather didn’t allow me to ride my bike.

But with you on the way — and with Moroni in need of a new set of tires, an alignment check, a new windshield and emissions work — we finally decided to move on.

In the past, I would never have considered buying a hatch back, or a car with all-wheel-drive. Tinted windows? Spacious back seats? Cargo room? Not really necessary.



Back before I met your mom, it was important to me to have a fast and stylish car. After we were hitched, I just wanted something reliable. And now, my priorities have changed again. As I discussed my desires with my friend, Michael, who has forgotten more about cars than I’ll ever know, I found myself using words like “stroller room” and “easy baby seat access.”

You’re not even a half-inch long and yet you’re already changing my life in subtle and profound ways. That’s power.

But no, you cannot have the keys. Ever.

Love,
dad