You’re My Boy, Blue

It is with a heavy heart and the deep resignation within my soul that I do hereby announce that my 1994 navy blue Honda Civic LX (a.k.a. Blue Diamond) has been put to its final resting place. That place being the hands of an auto repairman named Fernando who paid me $500.

I adopted “Blue” when he was three years old. He’d already had two different sets of parents. But we were destined for each other. I’d decided to move to California and needed wheels to get there. My dad’s co-worker needed to sell Blue as she had gotten a good deal on a more expensive car. I gladly bought Blue and the rest as they say, and I’m about to write, is history.

Blue delivered me from my apartment in the Wrigleyville neighborhood of Chicago, through the Midwestern plains, the Southwest’s desert mountains, and onto the Los Angeles freeways, packed full of my possessions, my hopes, and fast food wrappers.

In the years since, Blue and I have had more ups and downs than the shocks on a monster truck. At times, I felt his temper tantrums inconvenient, but I realize now he was just asking for help so that he could keep serving me. I wasn’t always the best owner, but I was persistent in my efforts of taking care of him (Regular tune-ups, oil changes, and washings…some with wax!) In return, Blue took care of me with the unenviable task of traversing the highways and side streets of LA as I went to jobs, ran errands, and drag-raced for extra cash. (Okay, once…and it was for a chocolate shake. But we won, good buddy!)

I see a lot of Blue in me. We both came to LA in much the same condition: Young, clean, engine-revving with a full tank of gas. Now, as the years have passed, we’ve got a few more wrinkles, not quite as much gas in the tank, and we emit a funny smell when we get heated up.

But Blue, that just shows we were living right. And even though I may have treated you a bit recklessly sometimes—and contrary to your appearance at the end—I never intentionally hurt you. I’m grateful for all that you’ve done for me. You were the transport for my adventurous soul.

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I thought I was strange for my attachments to my vehicles. My first was a 1986 Mazda that had definitely seen better days before I got it. Tragically, our relationship was broken up by a full size bully of a Ford truck that ran us over from behind. But oh how I loved that little truck, the football players used to have to push me out of the parking lot at the high school when it was icy cause he was so light. Then there was my 99 Saturn (the Satro) who was the cheapest, most reliable car I could ever had. Me, the Satro and my friends have seen many miles, sang 80's tunes at the top of our lungs, and challenged people at the street lights together (yes, she was a whopping 4 cyl.). I actually cried when the people that bout it from me wrecked her...How dare they? Ahhh, my most recent parting with cars was with Treppy (my 01 Intrepid), she may quite possibly be the car love of my life, I miss her already...her and I share the best memories and speed breaking times. Thanks for this Chris!!
05.15.2007
Laura Ciekot
I LOVED my first car. I inherited her from my Grandma when I turned 16 in and well, lemme tell you, it was a beaut! The year was 1996 and all my friends had Jeeps, VWs or BMWs, but my car couldn't help but become infamous on campus. She was a light blue Buick Skylark, '85, with a navy soft top - I mean, could you get any cooler? Oh, and the fabric on the ceiling sagged and I had to pin it up with thumbtacks. Everyone called her the Blue Bue and we used to just troll around town in her, reeking havoc at all the suburban hot spots - the mall, the Snowball stand (they're like snowcones for those of you not from MD), outside the movie theater/record store, at lacrosse games. She served me well, over 200,000 miles on her, and when she finally had to be towed out of the driveway, four years later, I took her hood ornament, so I would always have those memories and still have it to this day.
05.15.2007
Amanda Coggin
I inherited my grandmother's AMC Eagle that was off-white, with wood paneling and (pardon me) diarrhea brown lush pleather seats. My sister and I drove it from her home in Ann Arbor, Michigan in 1995 after we picked it up and coined it "the egg with shit stains" (pardon me, again). When we had to use the horn to honk at some idiot on the freeway, the horn squealed like a pig. We lost it and laughed the whole way home.
02.12.2007
Greg Stone
My Blue Diamond was named The Beast. The AM Radio was a big hit with the ladies but it made up for it with the big back seat. To this day, I have yet to drive a car as smooth. Perhaps it would still be mine if it weren't for that stop sign that came out of nowhere and the swampy ditch that followed. After being towed to the junk yard, I got a modest $75 for it's parts. I'd like to think that Blue Diamond and The Beast are now. Good stuff, Chris. I look forward to more of your musings.
02.09.2007
Rebecca Brown
I'm sure Blue would've been touched by this moving tribute. I'm raising my chocolate shake to honor his memory right now.
It feels good to write.

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