Junkers, clunkers, heaps, hoopty wagons, beaters.

I was walking the younger canine up the hill by the larger houses last Saturday when it became clear that someone had graduated from high school. Not just the public high school either, but -- as became apparent by the sign on the lawn where the party was held -- a private school. I think everyone in the class was invited, because there had to be fifty cars all along the street. 

I couldn't help but notice that they pretty much all looked brand-new, too. I'm not assuming that every single student at the school got a new car for graduation, but it would be hard to argue against that suggestion. 

And good for them, if that's the case. I lived within the confines of New York City as a youth; I didn't even bother getting my driver's license until I was in my twenties. Of course, if someone was buying me a new car, I probably would have done so, but I knew no one was going to do that for me.

The thing is, the gang I hung around were a little eclectic and from a range of backgrounds. We were all middle class -- everyone had a dad, and every dad had a job, and a lot of the moms did too -- but we were across the spectrum within that class. So our first cars were all pretty crappy, including the one I got when I finally did get my license. Even the kids that got their parents' old cars got some seriously old cars. All were used, all rusted, all too small, too hot, all with options that no longer worked, some with holes, all with funny noises, all with the tantalizing promise that this could be the day we broke down on I-278.

My first car [artist's impression]

And let's face it -- a junker like that could be a colossal pain in the ass. One night I took my girlfriend out and she dumped me over dinner, and I went to take her home and my car wouldn't start. Her dad came to get her, and I sat in the parking lot roiling in misery, waiting for my own dad to come help me get the freaking 18-year-old piece o' crap going so I could get home and brood.

Then again, bad cars can make for good stories. Riding with seven guys stuffed into a compact sedan on a hot August day to get pizza (one guy lying across three laps in the back) was not a lot of fun, but was hilarious even at the time. When you're young, you can stand a lot of inconvenience, at least if you're with your friends. 

I think that is one of the lessons you learn from starting out with a bad car -- inconvenience is part of life. Freedom means not having the best of everything, but it's worth it. 

I know it's tempting to make this a we walked uphill both ways in the snow and liked it story, and I would hate to have a crappy and unreliable vehicle now at my age. But there are other valuable lessons an old beater of a car can teach a youngster, such as:

🚗 The kid is more likely to have worked for the money to buy the car, and thus it is much more valuable to him;

🚗 The kid may learn to handle basic repairs and maintenance, like changing tires or oil; 

🚗 The kid may learn that human dignity is not tied to the cost of possessions;

🚗 But the kid may learn some humility for not having the costliest car among peers.

It's an truism that hardship -- even the minor hardship that comes from an old car -- builds character, and indeed it can. If the person prefers to sit in resentment and jealousy, then no. But if the person learns from experience, especially to laugh at the troubles of driving a clunker, then yes, it can build character. And my old friends are still some of the biggest characters I know.