When I think of “the rich man who dressed in purple garments” (Lk 16:19) and whose priorities were on his own appearances, fine dining, and possessions to the point that he overlooked the poor man lying starving at his door, I think of the unhealthy focus I once had on outward appearances.
As a teenager, I saved my babysitting money to buy name-brand clothing, and I breathed a sigh of relief every time my parents picked me up in their shiny, new car rather than our old pick-up truck. At the time, I was embarrassed to be seen in the truck. Now, I am ashamed to admit that I felt that way.
When I was about six years old, that pick-up truck was shiny and new, too. My dad drove it off the lot and onto our farm, leaving me beyond excited because it was our first truck. Until then, we had been a one-vehicle household, and now we had a family car along with a brand, new ‘‘70s-green” Chevrolet truck.
Since this farm truck was put to good, practical use, it understandably looked a little “less-new” as time went on. It got rusty from the Ontario winters, and it was dirty from being an actual work truck. Eventually, my parents purchased another new car. The aging truck, however, remained our second vehicle and, when I became a new driver, I was often relegated to driving it.
A friend and I like to recall our memory of meeting the registrar at the university we were hoping to attend. My parents had allowed me to drive to our appointment. Much to my chagrin, at the last minute I realized that the vehicle they were offering me was the truck. Laughing uncomfortably, my friend and I announced our arrival at the university with a rumbling muffler. We emerged from the vehicle, quickly creating distance between ourselves and this distinctly out-of-place vehicle in the parking lot. Let’s not even discuss our stealthy return to the truck before driving home.
I don’t think my friend was as embarrassed as I was. After all, I had access to a vehicle and she didn’t.
I laugh at this story now, empathizing with the young girl I was, and also realizing how experiences with the truck paved a way for that young girl’s future.
Like my dad, I have always loved nice things, including cars. As a girl, I dreamed – dare I say, assumed – that I would have shiny, new cars one day. Well, I do not.
Also like my dad, I prioritize. When he could only afford one car, he chose that car well and shared it with my mom. When he was starting a new business and putting us through school, used cars were what he purchased. When I first started teaching, I had a hand-me-down car from my grandmother. It was a reliable car and its age made me the brunt of many jokes; yet it got safely me where I needed to go, saving me money in the process.
My husband is a big car fan; yet, here we are, 26 years into our marriage and still driving used cars … more specifically, driving them until they quit. Currently I drive a van with dents. The automatic door is broken, but the van is reliable – unless you need air conditioning – and continuing to drive it has allowed us to meet other financial priorities in our lives.
Just as when I drove the green truck, or Grandma’s beige Malibu, people like to tease me about my vehicle. Unlike the teenaged version of myself, though, I no longer feel humiliated by their comments.
Long ago, I realized that what is on the outside is far less important than what I carry on the inside. Our old “beaters” carry people as well as memories; they also allow us to use our incomes to care for the priorities currently right on our doorstep.
Driving an old, green Chevy was unsavoury but essential for me as a snobby teenager. That truck gave me perspective and a sense of appreciation which I do not take for granted. I don’t “need” a shiny, new vehicle in order to shine within. (But I will admit that I’d still like one!)
