26 Feb Driving Miss Maisie: When a Dad’s Dream Car Meets Family Reality
Joseph Kelly’s boyhood dream hits a speedhump when he and his daughter go shopping for a car.
Back then I would have thought a guy trying to force his wife, two children and Woody the dog into a black, two-door V8 was a pretty tragic sight. ‘Back then’ was about to cause me grief in the here and now.
Recently a boyhood fantasy of mine came true – I was finally going to be a new car owner. After 15 years of old Kingswoods and Geminis, I was going to experience first-hand the joys of turning the key and knowing (for a fact) that the car would start. I was going to be spoilt by such luxuries as intermittent windscreen wipers, cloth seats and carpeted floors. And I could choose a colour outside of the seventies Holden rainbow of white, green and brown. This was destined to be a very exciting time.
The Dream Car I Wanted at 19
As soon as I thought about what type of car I wanted to buy I was magically transported to the back bedroom of my childhood home where I lived until I was 19. Back then the rules to a good car were simple – a V8 motor, two doors, mag wheels and a black paint job. Back then, I didn’t have to think about where I would place the baby capsule and booster seat, and how the pram, stroller and Woody the dog would fit in the back. Back then, I didn’t have to think about rising fuel prices and the damage that fossil fuels cause to our environment. Back then I would have thought a guy trying to force his wife, two children and Woody the dog into a black, two-door V8 was a pretty tragic sight. ‘Back then’ was about to cause me grief in the here and now.
Taking a Three-Year-Old Car Shopping Was My First Mistake
As a man in his thirties who suddenly thinks he is 19 and has a cheque in his pocket to buy a new vehicle, I made a fundamental error of judgement – I took my three-year-old daughter, Maisie, car shopping. The first salesman I met, Trevor, seemed surprised to find us sitting in the two-seater convertible perched in the window of the showroom. After trading some small talk about the car (we used words like ‘torque’ and ‘bore’), Trevor embarked on a fishing expedition. “Divorce can be pretty hard on the young ones,” he said with a genuine tone of understanding and a nod towards Maisie who was putting her wet fingers in the cigarette-lighter socket. It took me a while to understand where he was coming from, but when I worked it out I gave Trevor my whole life story.
Maisie and I were immediately whisked away from the glittering lights of the showroom floor and led to the back lot where they dump all the ‘sensible’ cars. Trevor’s sweet-talking about RPMs and CCs was replaced with a personable dialogue about litres of cargo space and child-seat anchor points. But as soon as Trevor uttered the words “people mover”, I grabbed Maisie and ran.
The ‘Woody Test’ That Changed Everything
By the fourth car dealership (Trevor had told me not to call them “car yards”) I had a practised routine. I told the salesman, Jonathan, that my wife had a 14-seater van and didn’t need any more car space. I, on the other hand, needed a car to get me to work and back, and under no circumstances would I let my children or Woody the dog see the inside of it. Satisfied that I was worthy, Jonathan led us to the cars usually reserved for DINKs and empty nesters. It was there that I saw the most beautiful car I have ever seen. It was black, it had two doors and it had mags. As soon as my bum hit the leather seat I knew that I would be driving this car home. While Jonathan was getting the paperwork together I decided to break all the rules and let Maisie sit in the back seat. It was at this point when I asked the question that will haunt me for the rest of my life: “So Maisie, what do you think?” She looked at the seats, stood up, looked out the back window. “What about Woody?” she asked.
There are few more humiliating moments in life than having to explain to a car salesman that you have gone temporarily insane and thought for a moment that you were a 19 year old with a blank cheque. Luckily for me, Jonathan was a good sort who was able to find me a black car with mags but with a smaller engine and more doors than the younger me would have approved of. More importantly, the car passed the Maisie-imposed ‘Woody test’.
When the car was finally delivered it was tempting to reflect on how I had grown from that 19-year-old boy to become a man with a loving family and loyal dog. It was tempting also to reflect on how I had evolved into a man capable of great acts of selflessness, a man who would put the concerns of his family first. Unfortunately, tempting as it is, there is no time for reflection when you’re fighting with a three year old over what should be the first CD played in your new car.
