Grace Priddy-Not Just Another Priddy Face

I, Grace Priddy, once fell in love.

The object of my affection was truly beautiful, equipped with dual airbags, four wheel drive, leather interior, optional back bench and expandable luggage racks.

At first, it was just a game. I’d spot one every time I went out, and drool at its sleek body style and curvy luxury features. But I knew I had a problem when all of my daily outings began to involve driving to the dealership, getting out and smooching my face against the tinted glass, peering in at the stylish furnishings of a 2000 Dodge Durango.

It would be mine oh, yes, it would be mine. How chic I would be, cruising along in my “Not too big, not too little” sport utility vehicle, glancing sympathetically at the unfortunate drivers of beat up sedans all around me.

And all the while, I cursed my wretched automobile. Why couldn’t it be a new Durango? Why didn’t it have sporty lines and built in cup holders? And so I continued to pay no attention to it as it cried out for help. I threw trash in the floorboards just as always, and ignored oil changes. Who cared about it? I was focusing on a larger goal. I didn’t need this aging hunk of metal tying me down. Alas, I was a free spirit trapped in a box with wheels.

Then came spring break. As my boyfriend and I headed for New England, he grew tired driving and we switched places. I climbed into the driver’s seat of his car and set off, enjoying every second of the Pennsylvania sunshine as I drove along. Soon, though, the bright, sunny sky turned dark and cloudy. Lightning crashed and rain poured down as I awkwardly steered around narrow curves, through rugged mountains and across high dams in this strange car. Not at all used to the brakes, tires, or width of this unfamiliar vehicle, I gripped the wheel and drove terrified for miles and miles. My boyfriend slept soundly in the seat next to me as I nervously hydroplaned and skidded down the road. All I could think about was how much I wished we had taken my car, how much I needed the comfort and security of my little car, how much I loved the way my car handled.

The following Monday morning after my return to SIU, I climbed into the familiar seat of my car for the first time since the trip. Pulling out of the driveway, I suddenly looked around and noticed the empty candy bar wrappers and scrap paper in the floorboard for the first time. Checking the dash, I realized it had been 5,000 miles since my last oil change, and probably 1,000 since my last car wash. I felt terrible. I had taken my beloved car for granted. This loyal car has never once broken down, never once failed to carry me safely to class, and I had badmouthed it at every chance I got, wishing for a nicer one.

As I navigated around a sharp corner as only my car does, and pressed the brake with exactly as much pressure as I knew it needed, I suddenly felt a whole in my heart being filled. And as I squeezed into a tight campus parking space much too small for an SUV, I fell in love once more. Only this time, my true love was real and right before my eyes.

Later that evening, I drove to the local car wash and spent nearly three hours detailing and pampering my car. And as I watched a suddenly not so glamorous Durango pull into the stall next to me, I made a solemn vow to never again treat my vehicle with such cruelty. It was my true driving mate, and it had taken driving another for me to realize what a treasure I had.