An Open Letter of Apology to my Tercel

Dear Tercel:

We’ve been through a lot together over the years. As the first car I’ve ever owned (the Infiniti G20 I had from 1998-1999 was, in fact, my uncle Lon’s car on loan to me), you were sort of my vehicular training wheels (no pun intended). I’ve learned a lot from you. And even if you aren’t the prettiest or newest car on the block, by God you are reliable, and that means more to me than any of those other things.

I feel like I’ve tricked you. When you rolled off the truck at Bob Baker Toyota, fresh from the factory, you looked forward to a charmed life of mild weather and ocean breezes. The most severe weather you ever thought you’d encounter was an overabundance of sea salt. But now, in your twilight years, I’ve subjected you to the harsh New England winter, and I’m not sure you’ll ever forgive me.

Let me back up for a moment. In truth, the hard road to New England began with your cross country journey. On the final leg from New Jersey to New Haven, the truck driver ‘hit a bump too fast,’ and for reasons I still don’t quite understand, the car wasn’t tied down very well. You flew up into the roof above you and got dented all over the place. It’s ok – I’m not mad. It wasn’t your fault. You suffered the humiliation of a sagging ceiling (it’s ok dear, it happens to all of us eventually) for over two months, until the auto shippers’ insurance company finally paid to have you fixed. Now, with a fresh lift and coat of paint, you’re good as new.

But then the cold came. And boy, did it come! In all your California life, the worst you experienced was mild ice on the windshield. I left you for 11 days at Christmas, only to come home to you completely frozen shut. I heaved, pulled, and grunted until the driver side door opened with such a sickening crack that I thought my superhuman strength had broken the car door off. And to add to the comic scene, with the final burst of strength I used to open the door, the momentum of the door flying open threw me flat on my butt in the middle of the street. I looked up to see your car door still intact (no super strength after all -- damn), and devoted the next 20 minutes to removing the snow and ice from you.

To add insult to injury, all this scraping, pulling, and general chaos occurred in -9 degree weather. Yes, that’s not a typo – it was negative nine degrees. Even the brightest, most youthful car would have a hard time getting going in subzero temperatures. It took you a while to warm up (again, no fault of your own – moving slower just comes with age), but you did start, and I can’t thank you enough.

The next stop in our Connecticut journey is a trip to the DMV next week, where you and I both must rescind our California driving identity and become drivers in the Constitution State. I think it will be a sad day for both of us to say goodbye to the Golden State identity we’ve known and loved (in fact, it’s the only identity we’ve ever known), but we’ll look optimistically forward to the next chapter in our lives.

Sorry Old Gal for the shock to the system, but know that I promise to be as good to you as I can be, and I hope we’ll have a nice long run together for at least several more years. And I promise the warm weather will return. Someday.