We Love Our Cars…Are We Nuts?

By Tom Anselm

I had a conversation with my car recently. Well, it was a bit one-sided since, of course, cars can’t talk. Except there were a couple movies about talking cars, a show on TV called ‘My Mother the Car’ (TV has evolved, right?) and a national Public Radio’s ‘Car Talk.’ Regardless, I ‘chatted’ with my Redfire-colored 2007 4-door Ford Fusion SE.

The occasion was preceded by the driver’s-side heated seat no longer heating. This has been a feature that I have long loved about this car. Burns my biscuits, doncha know. And just as the temps hit the low teens again, it looked like hot buns would be a thing of my traveling past. It was not a good sign.

Now, I don’t have a name for my 2007 Ford Fusion SE, other than ‘2007 Ford Fusion SE.’ Men name their boats, planes, weapons. Even their favorite golf clubs. But not their cars.

Car naming is predominantly a ‘lady

thing.’ I will note a manly exception for Luke and Beau’s ‘General Lee’ and David Hasselhof’s ‘KIT,’ but those vehicles were worthy of naming rights. A few of my daughters have called their vehicles by name. Sally Saturn. Honey. Tori Taurus. We had a yellow VW that the girls appropriately labeled ‘The Buggy Car’ and a station wagon with the affectionate moniker of ‘Grocery Getter.’

It could be because cars look like people

that we treat them so personally. You know, it is no accident that automotive engineers design front-ends to look like faces. Grilles to resemble a mouth, the headlights, eyes. Facial recognition is one of the most ingrained traits in our brain

And so I said to my 2007 Ford Fusion SE, on a freezing cold morning, ‘Please not the seat. You’ve already quit on your CD player. Your radio’s getting iffy. I got you that new air conditioner last summer, remember. What is going on here?’

I could almost hear FF SE sigh. Or was

that the radiator?

‘I am 9 years old, my dear sir,’ he seemed to whisper to me. ‘Cars are a bit like dogs, with respect to aging. And see those miles? Over 125,000. Like it or not, old chap, we are wearing out.’ I was not quite sure why ‘07 FF SE had a British accent, or why he saw fit to refer to ‘we’ when referring to ‘wearing out,’ but I suppose there was a point to be conceded. And a gender as well.

He was wearing out. As I am. I could use a knee replacement; he just got new tires. I have to take some meds, shoot some apple cider vinegar daily. I try to drink an amount of water that increases exponentially my visits to the Little Boys Room. He requires his regular transfusions of 5 quarts of W30.

‘I get it, FF SE. Outside of a few major

repairs, you’ve been a good and faithful servant. And both our mileage is getting up there.’

‘I have tried to do my best, sir. And by the by, we are past-due for that transmission flush.’

Which I acknowledged. Hey, I did fix the lovely dent in the passenger door inflicted by the junior member of the clan (“OMG, Dad! I didn’t see your car in the driveway!”). Which he duly acknowledged.

‘All I’m asking is for another year or so,’ said I. ‘I absolutely love the idea of no car payment, and I promise to keep up on those fluids.’ I was bargaining with a 2-ton steel and plastic entity.

‘We shall see, sir. We shall see.’ He seemed a bit weary.

I didn’t want to play the ‘Replacement

Card’ as a threat. But I’d been toying with the idea of something more, well, sporty. Kinda given up on the 5-speed Mustang convertible. The knees, remember? And hay fever doesn’t lend itself to top-down cruising. But my next ride just might be more edgy.

It was almost as if FF SE was reading my mind.

‘I know our time is limited,’ said he,

quietly. ‘However, please recall that I went from #1 Family Car, to Tom’s Car, to….’

We came to a red light, sat in silence, alone with our thoughts. We’d had a good run, he and I. Been lots of places. Still had some miles to go before we slept. I decided to bury plans for replacement and, at the sight of green, gunned the engine onto the entrance ramp. We shot along I-64 as best as a 9 year-old Redfire 4-door Ford Fusion SE could muster.

And I think he was smiling, if even just a little.

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