Tea Leaf Journals

The car that lived forever

Back in Malaysia, my parents live in a small town called Batu Gajah (literally “stone elephant”) not unlike Duvall in size and population. They are retired schoolteachers. My dad golfs and my mom line-dances and sometimes, they drive around in our erstwhile blue Toyota station wagon.

Kindly note of the words “erstwhile”, meaning it’s now more of a “vintage” blue, you know, like muddy brown; and “our”, meaning the car has been around since I was still living with my parents.

And I’ve not been living with my parents since 1991.

I’ve been sitting here the last 15 minutes, trying to summon the most loving, sentimental descriptions my brain can muster at 11.20pm, to paint for you a picture of this vehicle in which I’d spent much of my youth: road trips with my parents and sister; drives to the swim club, friends’ houses, church, school; thousands upon thousands of hours waiting for my mom in it as she visits the market, the bank, the post office, even the doctor’s (way back when leaving your child locked in the car was as casual as letting them out to play all day on the streets).

Who am I kidding? I hated that thing.

I began loathing the Toyota the moment I realized in 1985, way before I could drive, that it was a piece of crap. It was a used car my dad had gotten to act as a “back-up” for the 15-year old Civic we’d owned. It had no air-conditioning (Malaysia is in the tropics, FYI), the seats were black and purple velvet (in the tropics!) and worst of all, it did not have a player.

It was 1985, and I was already my parents’ worst nightmare, a confused adolescent transitioning into an obnoxious teenager. A car without air-conditioning was bad enough. A car without a cassette player? 13-year old me wanted to die both from the humiliation and the heat.

Makes one wonder what condition the Civic was in if THIS was the back up.

I’d asked my dad once why he’d bought such an old car (putting it mildly).

“Old doesn’t mean useless. Besides, we’re not made of money,” was his curt answer.

You may be shocked to know that the Toyota is still chugging along, and has so far managed not to kill anyone. The last time I saw that deathtrap (four years ago?) much of the paint on its hood, around the bumper and doors had peeled right off, and rust had managed to erode away the rest of it, giving it an “antique-y” look. You’d think that after some 15 million near-death incidents from heat exhaustion and accidental stunts (like the driver’s door opening without warning) and the odd noises, like the hood squealing whenever it went over a bump as though someone was trapped inside, my parents would’ve gotten rid of it.

Yet, my dad has seen fit to outfit it with a new used engine two years back, a deal he’d gotten from an old mechanic friend. So now, it’s a piece of crap that will probably outlive all of us.

“Good as new now,” my mother had said with some emotion, as though my father had just rescued a family member from the brink of death.

“Besides, we’re not made of money,” she’d added, tilting her head up, defiant and proud that she and my dad had, once again, gotten away with such a good deal when lesser people would’ve balked and surrendered to the temptation of a shiny new car with a shiny new loan to go with it. 

It has always been this way with my family. Repair is better than replace. If you can fix it, fix it. Old doesn’t mean useless (even if it may kill you). Which is why explaining globalization and present-day economies of scale to my parents, that have made replacing some items, like washing machines or fridges, and sometimes even cars, can be cheaper than repairing them, is next to impossible.

Aiya, I can hear them starting. Americanized daughter asking why parents living in small town Malaysia insist on salvaging piece of crap deathtrap. Young people these days, such excess, such wastage. Tut tut. What do you know about poverty and deprivation, the days when even being able to walk around was a luxury?

A few months ago, my husband and I considered selling our Chevy Uplander for no real reason other than to have a newer car (we’re a one-car family). We shopped around online for its replacement, hovered between the new Mazda SUV and a Jeep. In the meantime, we sent the Chevy away for the day to be detailed.

When it was returned, we were stunned. There was the ride we’d fallen in love with two years ago, shopping for our first American car. Why did we want to replace it in the first place? Status? Impulse? Because it’s the Microsoft Vanpool van? Who the heck knows?

I don’t know if we can ever keep our car for as long as my folks have kept theirs (the Civic stuck around for about 22 years before it finally died a permanent death) but there is something to be said about being good to your possessions so they last long enough to create memories (even if they’re crappy ones), especially in tight times like these. My parents would’ve been proud to know that we’d decided to stick with our one-car policy and our “old” car - if only I’d told them about the whole “want a new car, need a new car” episode. Didn’t want to listen to an hour-long lecture on being more frugal especially with gas prices going up and the US dollar going down.

Besides, we’re not made of money.

Ps. This post is not sponsored by Honda or Toyota and is not a testimony to how long their cars last. My parents are just very careful car owners. 

Read more of Jennifer Tai’s writing at The I’mPerfect Mom.  If you have questions, anecdotes, or topics for Tea Leaf Journals, email jenn[at]theimperfectmom[dot]com.

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