When I graduated high school, my first car was my parents’ unassuming Chevy Chevette, which was a few years old at the time. While it was practical, my heart was set on a bright red VW Golf—fun, zippy, and the perfect representation of my spirited teenage self.
As I prepared for college applications, my parents, especially my mother, insisted I only consider schools in Connecticut. I quickly realized this was her way of nudging me toward Fairfield University, just 20 minutes from home. The last place I wanted to be was so close to my childhood home, but my mother persisted, taking me on tours of the campus, even scheduling a second visit when the skies cleared. Eventually, she made a tempting offer: “If you choose Fairfield, we’ll get you a car. Any car you want.”
Being a typical teenager with a penchant for materialism, I was easily swayed by this enticing deal. I applied, got accepted, and eagerly awaited my keys to the VW Golf. But when I reminded my mother about our agreement, she laughed dismissively. “Oh, that’s only if you live at home and commute,” she said. Oops! I had overlooked the fine print. Living at home was not an option for me, and my college experience began without a car.
Fast forward four years: just before graduation, I received a call from my parents, brimming with excitement. “We have a graduation gift for you—a CAR!” my mother exclaimed. My heart swelled with gratitude; finally, they were delivering on that long-ago promise.
“Is it the red Golf?” I asked, my excitement building.
“Nope! It’s a Toyota!” she replied, with an unnerving enthusiasm.
“What model?”
There was a pause, one that felt far too long. “It’s a Corona,” she finally said.
“A Corona?” I echoed, confused. “You mean a Corolla?”
“No, a Corona,” she confirmed. My mind raced back to the VW Golf fiasco. “What year is it?” I asked, maintaining my cool.
“1979,” she responded.
My heart sank. They bought me a 13-year-old car? Wasn’t I an adult now, deserving of some say in this matter? I foolishly shared my disappointment with my mother, who quickly labeled me as “spoiled” and “ungrateful” before hanging up. I was left feeling a mix of confusion, anger, and guilt.
At the end of the day, my parents had gifted me a car, regardless of its age or condition. I had to remind myself that this gesture was thoughtful, especially during a recession. I called them back, offered sincere apologies, and expressed my gratitude again.
When I finally saw the Corona, it was a faded silver that could barely be called a car. The interior was a bleached mauve-pink, and it struggled to idle properly. My new job required reliable transportation, so I eventually traded it with my mother for her 1988 Mercury Tracer, a much more suitable ride.
As for the Corona? My sister took it next, trying to make the best of it and even nicknaming it “The Bullet.” However, it soon became too expensive to maintain, and my cousin ended up with it. He parked it at the train station one night, but car thieves attempted to steal it—only to be thwarted by the Corona’s utter inability to run. The police found it abandoned, still causing confusion, just like it did throughout its life.
In the end, I learned a valuable lesson about gratitude and expectations. It’s essential to appreciate the thought behind a gift, no matter how it may initially seem.
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Summary
Navigating the complexities of gift-giving and expectations can be tricky, especially when it comes to significant milestones like graduation. It’s important to approach such moments with gratitude, as the intention behind a gift often matters more than the gift itself.