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Previous Challenge Entry (Level 3 – Advanced)
Topic: In and Out (04/30/09)

TITLE: Old Red
By Rhonda Schrock


Sixteen years, two jiggly mirrors, and 201,000 miles. Throw in one anemic engine, 0.3 cup holders per person, and an air conditioner that went clunk, and the numbers added up to one thing. In cowboy vernacular, we had ridden the hair off that horse, and it was time for a new ride.

When my resourceful husband did the research, he found that the nearest one that met all his specifications was one state over. Thus, on a recent spring evening we piled into Old Red – two adults, four boys, one stroller, three suitcases, and one portable crib.

Oh, yeah. And a pack of howler monkeys, judging by the shrieks that erupted when someone’s sibling dribbled cold pop on his leg.

“Can you throw some napkins back there?” The Chief asked.

“I would, but I’ve got a suitcase in my back, a stroller across my legs, and your soda on my lap,” I said. “Need a drink?”

“Forget it,” he said, looking tired.

I could tell he was counting the miles.

Upon returning, I was surprised by a twinge of nostalgia as I watched Old Red being wheeled into the barn. To the ordinary eye, it looked like an old, tired van, but to me, it looked like the answer to our long-ago prayers.

Far from being just a piece of junk destined for the scrap heap, it was a museum of family history, and I couldn’t help but wonder how many times our merry band had spilled in and out of its doors.

A lot of character had been developed using that humble van. Week after week, we packed in four boys who had (theoretically, anyway) been freshly scrubbed the night before, and hauled them to church. Out they would tumble afterward in a flurry of Sunday School papers, shirts untucked and shoelaces untied, looking for lunch.

Further character was developed when the teenagers started driving. For the oldest one especially, it was the bane of his existence, thanks to its unique shape and the fact that it was clearly the only van to come over on the ark.

Being dropped off at school was particularly stressful for him. We would pull up to the sidewalk with only a pair of eyebrows, two eyes, and a tuft of hair showing on the passenger’s side. I would pause, sighing with impatience, as he waited for all upper classmen and cheerleaders to pass by before slinking out and bolting into the school.

When he and his buddies came up with a less-than-savory nickname for Old Red, he developed an annoying habit. At drop-off, he would stick his head back in the door and repeat it several times just to watch me turn purple before hightailing it up the sidewalk. He suddenly lost interest when I threatened to honk right there before God and all those witnesses every time he said it.

Over the years, Old Red faithfully carried us to and from many sporting events. We’d load up the stroller and toss in the equipment, followed by the players and the baby. After whooping and hollering per The Good Parent’s Handbook, we’d return home and unload the whole caboodle, this time in reverse.

In addition, it was my counseling office. For some reason, boys open up when you get out on the open road. Maybe it’s the locked doors, I don’t know, but I did discover that if you keep it above 35, they can’t jump. When they get tired of circling the block, they’ll lean back and sing like canaries, giving you an opportunity to speak wisdom into their lives.

And how can I forget the wild ride we took the night boy number four was born? With three brothers eager to welcome him and a mama in labor, The Chief packed everyone in, throwing in a suitcase and pillows, and gunned it.

With every jolt and bump in the road triggering a fresh contraction, I think I screeched something like, “Do you want me to deliver this child in the glove box,” while hanging on for dear life. I’m pretty sure we slewed into the parking lot sidewise in a hail of gravel and dust, but The Chief says it was far more dignified than that.

Yes, Old Red served us well. The pain of its passing will be eased, I think, by having one cup holder per person, a DVD player, and heated seats. The only problem may be getting my hot cross buns out of them.

The opinions expressed by authors may not necessarily reflect the opinion of FaithWriters.com.
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This article has been read 741 times
Member Comments
Member Date
Ruth Ann Moore05/07/09
A faithful car can be like an old friend. An entertaining read.
Anita van der Elst05/10/09
Hilarious! Delivering the baby in the glove box! Hot cross buns! A total hoot. Thanks so much!
Virgil Youngblood 05/10/09
Loved it. Great job.
Eliza Evans 05/12/09
Excellent use of humor here. Fresh and witty. Great job! Loved it!
Brought back some memories of a car we used to have..."Chuggie" ;)
Gregory Kane05/13/09
Beautifully crafted. Thanks for the great story-telling
Lollie Hofer05/14/09
Congratulations on your well-deserved win! This was a fun story to read. Made some think about "Ol' Silver" and the day I'll have to say good-bye to him.
Genia Gilbert05/14/09
Congratulations on your win! Well deserved. Funny and great story.
Patricia Turner05/14/09
Love this story and can totally relate! My 18 year old senior son still drives my 1997 Quest van. It too has received many names over the years, including his own sarcastic name for it: "my sweet ride". Only when his friends got inside and heard the premium sound system (still working) did it get a somewhat better reputation as the road trip van. Congratualations on your very deserved win!
Chely Roach05/14/09
You are VERY quickly becoming one of my favorite writers here. I adore the flavor of your writing style...it fits me and my sense of humor like a glove. Great stuff...congrats on your EC!
Kristen Hester05/16/09
I love this! I love the humor, the subject matter, everything about it. SO much fun. It really fits me. I love my new van with the DVD player, GPS, bun warmers (he he) but have fond memories of the old van.