Dear First Car,

In my wise, older years (aka my 20s), I have realized that you were so much more than a box on four wheels. You were a friend, a place for memories, a place for mistakes and a family heirloom.

First, I say that you were a friend, because you were always there for me. You got me to school, practices, rehearsals and to the high school boyfriend's house. As a car in rush hour traffic, you heard me say a variety of choice words and still loved me. We went fun places together, like the lake or on spontaneous road trips. The first day I had my license, we went to the mall together. There were nights when my best friends and I had long conversations just sitting in the driveway. You were there for me when I had tears in my eyes and a grimace on my face. We played loud music together and just rode the town together. You were a great friend.

But you were also the one I made many, and I mean many, mistakes with. From speeding (a lot), to forgetting stop signs, to staying out late, to skipping class—we were the bad kids. And we got separated when we did those things. Mom and dad took the keys away, but we just waited until we were reunited and tried to avoid the same mistakes.

As many mistakes as we made, you have been in the family for quite some time. Mom and Dad used you before me, taking us on family road trips and the daily errands. We "fought" over the radio almost as much as we all sang along to Disney radio. I passed you down to my sister who passed you down to our brother. Now you stay with him until...what? What will become of you and all the stickers we put on you? The thought of selling you makes me sad, but the thought of you rotting in rust makes me even more sad. Maybe you'll become a new first car for another young person. Maybe you'll become the memories for a family or a young couple. Whatever you become, you'll still hold a special place in my heart and memory.