The Beretta
My First Car
My first car was unforgettable. It was a fading red 1988 Chevrolet Beretta that I bought for five hundred dollars. It had a huge dent in the front right fender, and a good deal of the hood’s paint was chipped away. I’m pretty sure that the seat belts were just for show, and the roof leaked when it rained. There was a gaping hole surrounding the emergency break and a giant gash in the dashboard; I covered both with red and white Christmas place mats and duct tape. The CD player, which was the kind that had a handle and pulled completely out (as if such a thing need be portable), worked for a few seconds the first time I tried it, and then never again. But despite all its numerous flaws, I loved that car.
I bought the Beretta during winter break of my sophomore year in college and gave it over to a mechanic who coaxed (or bribed) it into passing the State Inspection just in time for me to take it back to school. So my first significant time with the car was the drive from my home in Brooklyn to my college near Boston. To my surprise, my dad insisted on making the trip with me. And although I have always valued time with my father, I thought his insistence a bit odd since he, himself, didn’t know how to drive (and still doesn’t). But in hindsight, I’m glad he was with me — and I’m especially grateful that I wasn’t alone, given the surprises this trip had in store.
