Why owning a car is good practice for having kids

I love my car. I’m quite vain about my car. It’s beautiful. It’s more than I could have ever asked for. It’s bright red, sporty looking two door Honda Civic coupe, the nice kind before they butchered the body style in 2006. It’s cute. It’s zippy. It’s adorable. It boosts my cool status considerably. It’s also the first car I’ve ever owned, and I bought it with my own money and I’m so proud of it.

Bieng a fairly spiritual person, I decided that I was bieng far too vain about it for my own good. So I prayed that God would please remove my vanity about it but maybe He could avoid doing something too drastic like having me hit a patch of ice and wreck it?

An honest prayer like this God would never refuse. So, sure enough, two months later, I come out to my car after work to find that someone had sideswiped it while getting out of their parking space. At least that is all I could think of that would cause such a noticible, large dent and matching scratch in my door. They didn’t leave a note. My beautiful baby was the victim of a hit and run. UGH.

That was the first of many dings, scratches, and broken windshields that it has suffered since then (who would have thought a rogue Christmas tree could do so much damage?). With each mark my pride suffered a bit more, until I could finally look at the newest scratch and simply laugh at it without even getting mad.

This, I’ve decided, is good practice for having kids. I remember when my brothers and I had a huge cardboard box which we cut uplay pieces of cardboard on the stairs and use a cardboard mat to slide down the stairs. It was the best idea ever, until my brother J crashed into the wall, his knee going right through the drywall! It was so funny that when my parents came home later they weren’t even angry; my dad kind of just laughed and told my brother to fix it.

I really like the virtue of detatchedness to physical goods. It’s a great freedom when I don’t have to get mad over every little piece of damage to my property. S**t happens, I’m over it. Amen!

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One Response

  1. I feel that way about my iBook. Oh, my gosh, I love my iBook. I feel naked without it. When it was brand new, it was shiny and fast and felt like eating clementine oranges.

    When it first started getting scratched and stained, I felt bad, like I’d mistreated my poor iBook. There’s a sort of guilt that comes with seeing something you own degrade.

    Then, I realized that the dirt and scratches remind me that my iBook isn’t the most real, beautiful thing.

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