Final Word: First car, First love: One and the same

By Craig Wilson, USA TODAY

First cars are a bit like first kisses. You remember them. But unlike first kisses, first cars usually have better memories attached to them. That first kiss might not have been all that pleasant.

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  By Suzy Parker, USA TODAY

By Suzy Parker, USA TODAY

There is nothing unpleasant about your first car. They are instant friends. They take you places. They give you your first taste of freedom. Free at last. Free at last.

Matt Stone recalls the feeling in his new book, My First Car. In it, dozens of people reminisce about their first true love, and we aren't talking humans here.

Jay Leno waxes nostalgic about his 1934 Ford pickup, Tom Wolfe goes on about his 1953 Ford Country Squire station wagon, and Morgan Freeman says he couldn't get a date before he got a 1952 Ford convertible. After that, he couldn't keep women away.

My grandmother had to die for me to get my first car. Hers. It was a high price to pay, but at least I got something in return. She died while I was in college, and the next thing I knew, I was driving a 1963 Plymouth Fury back to campus. She was beige. And beautiful.

The thing about the 1963 Fury is that there was no gearshift, on the floor or on the column. It had push buttons. Right there on the dashboard.

You pushed DRIVE and you went forward. You pushed REVERSE and you went backward. You pushed NEUTRAL and you stayed put.

She was about as high-tech as you could get. Man was about to walk on the moon that summer; I could understand why. I had push buttons on the dash. There was no looking back.

I have reminisced about Melinda before. It's hard to get first loves out of our minds. I named her after a movie character who made a positive, if somewhat quirky, impression on me. Can't even remember the movie.

Melinda took us everywhere, never complaining. Yes, a Syracuse snowstorm always proved a challenge for her, but she traversed the roads between Syracuse and Ithaca more times than either of us can remember.

And once she took six of us to Fort Lauderdale on spring break. She was a good sport, although her shocks and springs and whatever else she had down there were already screaming as we slowly climbed the ramp onto Route 81 near campus.

But I was fickle back then, not appreciating unconditional love when I had it. Melinda was wasted on the young. On me. I eventually traded her in for a brand-new VW Beetle.

The Bug was efficient and practical. Everything a first love is not. Nor should be.

E-mail cwilson@usatoday.com

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