Car hunt is a science – until you find 'The One'

(This column was first published August 8, 2004 in the Oakland Tribune.)

THERE IT WAS, sitting in the driveway of an Oakley neighborhood one Saturday in January.

It was everything my son, Matt, had dreamed of for his first car. A blue 1994 Chevy Camaro. Mag wheels, a T-top, a sleek look. It looked fast. And it had everything I wanted: low mileage.

We got out and quickly looked it over before knocking on the door to see the owner.

The owner must have liked our looks because he let us drive it without him. I gave the keys to Matt.

"Let's take it for a spin, son." His eyes glistened.

"Listen for rattles. Listen for pings in the engine. Feel for shakes," I told him.

We came to a stop sign with an empty country road ahead of us. Then the words every boy dreams his dad will say: "Floor it, son."

We shot down the road and hit 60 in nothing flat. This baby was hot, and Matt wanted it. But there was one problem. Matt had limited funds, about $500 less than what the owner was asking. And the asking price was really fair.

We sat on the curb across from the owner's house, talking dad to son, setting our strategy.

We'd be honest with him and tell him what our maximum was and that the money was coming from his savings.

We made our presentation. Then, silence. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, he asked Matt, "Do you really want this car?"

My son smiled, his teeth finally free from braces. "Oh, yeah. It's a really nice car. I'll take good care of it," he said, hopefully.

"OK, you got a deal." That night, Matt followed me home in his new car, proud as can be. On the way, he stopped and popped off the top, even though it was a little chilly.

The next day, I asked him if he wanted help washing and waxing it. I understood when he told me he wanted to do it by himself.

Car shopping with my teenage son brought back memories of my first car, a (sort of) green 1971 Oldsmobile Cutlass. The "Gutless Cutlass," my brother called it.

I bought it my sophomore year from the local Chevy dealership. I paid $1,400, with money saved from working summer jobs and from the sale of my 4-H livestock. On the drive home, it died on a lonely country road. When I got home, I washed and waxed it.

Matt's into cars. We'll pass a car, and he'll notice some detail that only car buffs notice. He watches car shows on TV; his favorite class was auto mechanics; his Web site history is filled with car places. He's always telling me what my 8-year-old Jeep needs.

He got his first job last summer as a busboy. I drove him 20 minutes each way several times a week while he got experience and saved money for his dream car, a Mitsubishi Eclipse. I came to treasure those 20-minute drives, even at 10 o'clock on a Saturday night.

Twenty minutes with a teenager is an eternity to a dad.

By the time he started his junior year last September, he had landed a job closer to home at another restaurant. I still drove him, but it was only five minutes. His savings started adding up. At Christmas, he knew his purchase time was coming. He asked all of our relatives to give him cash en lieu of a present.

I couldn't wait to give him a hand with his car shopping. This was every dad's day in the sun: My son wanted my car knowledge, what little of it there is. He needed me.

He gave me computer printouts of car ads he had found online.

"Too much." "Too far." "Piece of junk." "Piece of cake." With any luck, this car search thing could drag on for, oh, months!

It lasted about a month. I tried to tell him how important it was to be patient and wait for the right car. Don't be impulsive. Get a good buy. Be in control of the situation; don't be controlled. That all went out the window at the sight of that hot blue Camaro.

It's what my dad taught me, what his dad taught him. And what Matt will one day teach his son.

Doug Mead has been a single parent for 10 years. You can e-mail him at doug@parentingsolo.com.

Dear newspaper editors

April 5, 2006

Doug Mead has a powerful testimonial of being a single parent for 12 years (and counting), sharing his single-parent journey with his readers. His writing hits home with single parents, because he writes about the joys as well as the struggles.

That’s why he started writing Parenting Solo in July 2004 with ANG Newspapers in the San Francisco Bay Area. Since then, he’s developed a loyal readership of single parents, singles and marrieds alike, because his stories are in a narrative style that everyone can relate to.

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Doug Mead
4510 Melody Drive, #18
Concord, CA 94521
Cell: (925) 209-8470
E-mail: doug@parentingsolo.com