Going to a car show always makes me feel giddy, but as an adult, I can contain myself. I brought the kids to the car show and our shared exuberance, unfortunately, couldn’t be reasonably contained by those 8 years of age and younger.
Now I know why they remove removable things from car interiors during car shows and why they keep certain cars locked or behind velvet rope.
It’s because of kids.
Kids. Touch. Everything.
Once Matty got inside a car, he would proceed to flip every switch, lift every flap, and press every button. Sara did the same. The kids loved sun visors and the storage area in the center console for some reason.
Should I have stopped them? No, I don’t think so, because I did the same thing, but in a more genteel manner.
In any case, I’m changing my dream car list. I used to think that if I ever won the lottery or came upon a windfall, I’d get a Miata. Realistically, I’m never going to a track, I’m not going to drive faster than 100 MPH, and I’m not going to want to spend more than $200 on an oil change (hey, I might be rich in my dreams, but I’ll still be frugal).
Anyway, the BMW 1-series has supplanted Miata as my dream car of choice.
Why? I think it’s the spiritual successor of the BMW E-30, the vintage of which I used to be a proud owner of:
Ah, the Moneypit. The day I handed over the car to its new owners (who had test driven it the night before), I woke up early, waxed it one last time, and took pictures of it. I still have those pictures.
It was fun while it lasted, but I had to grow up, and as much as I liked my mechanics, I didn’t like the fact that they knew me by name. No mechanic should ever know you by name.
OK, well, now that I think of it, if I ever have the means, maybe I’ll just find another 1989 325i…and do a full restoration, heck, an engine swap. Put an M3 engine and drivetrain in it and voila, sleeper. Being able to work on a car at my leisure would be the ultimate in luxury because it implies that:
1. I have another car that I can depend on
2. I have the right tools to work on a car
3. I have a garage
4. I have the time
I’d love to build a car with my kids. I had a coworker whose father restored a car for several years, and when my coworker had a son, his father (the kid’s grandfather) decided that it should be a family effort and all three of them ended up working on the car every weekend…for ten years. I’m sure that at some point, the act of working on the car became less about the car and more about the family.