Perhaps of all the spaces we spend time in, a car hears and sees it all: the moments of joy, the trying and uplifting conversations with children or friends, a confession, a tragic moment, a great soul-searching epiphany. And when we're alone in the car, there's no other place where we spend so much concentrated time with ourselves, in our thoughts.
This Subaru Outback, which we are donating to NPR, witnessed a generation, of sorts, of our children's lives from their earliest memories to now, when it says its last goodbye as my daughter spends her first year in college and my son his sophomore year in high school.
For us, this journey has meant road trips with our children -- weeks at the beach when sand would cover the floor mats and the hatch would be filled with beach gear, most of which we never used -- or hour long drives to the grandparents house to the Eastern shore for Saturday and Sunday suppers. This Subaru endured whole cups of hot chocolate spilled on its seat, countless meals eaten in our laps on the way to and from school, and lengthy audio books, largely Harry Potter and Ranger's Apprentice. This Subaru sat patiently as my daughter learned to drive, or outside the theater while my children rehearsed, and hours in parking garages while we toured New York after harrowing trips of I-95.
In more ways than one, this car is inextricably tied to raising our children, and while it is a hunk of metal and oil and brake pads and spark plugs, it has served as a faithful pillar of constancy in those memories that we will always appreciate.
Angelo donated a 2010 Subaru Outback to WYPR through the Car Talk Vehicle Donation Program.
Thank you, Angelo!