Our first car was an army green Willys Jeep with a tarp roof that leaks in the rain. If we went out for a drive and it started to rain, then we were SOOL. The leak was always the worst on the back side of the car so we poor kids always got soaked. “Hang in there, kids! We’re almost home!” were the magic words my parents would say to us. No patches could fix the leak on the roof, and it was well-patched up all right. The car wasn’t exactly ours. It was my dad’s work vehicle. But it will always be our first car to me.
Our second car was a brown Daihatsu Taft. Another jeep-type vehicle from dad’s work. It was a replacement for the old Willys. He eventually bought it off from work. He had it painted Ferrari red when he was having a mid-life identity crisis (he was always in the middle of a mid-life identity crisis in one form or another for as long as I can remember). He sold the car to a relative after my mother died and I left for Canada, to help my older brother pay off his credit card debts.
Our third car was my mum’s car. It was the only car we ever bought brand new from a dealership. It was a maroon Toyota Kijang (a family van, very popular in Indonesia). I have a lot of good memories of my mum and I in that car. I used to like to go to her office after school (as in university) so we could drive home together and chat abut anything and everything along the way. It was the same vehicle that took my mum to the hospital, never to come home again. My older brother sold the car after my mum passed away and I left for Canada, to pay for his wife’s hospital bills.
I learned to drive on the Daihatsu Taft. I never went to get my license because Indonesian drivers are crazy and I’m not that brave. But at the very least, I know how to drive stick.
And now I got Tracy Chapman’s “Fast Car” stuck in my head.
