Car guy (CG) and I have known each other for almost 28 years.

Things I should’ve included in our wedding vows:

  1. accept that internet service providers change without notice
  2. electronic gadgets and technology swaps with short notice
  3. expect to see tears at every Apple new product announcement
  4. don’t ever get attached to a vehicle
Photo Credit: San Clemente Car Show

CG’s savant-ness showed early in childhood. He loved reading catalogs. He absorbed car trivia. As a kid, I learned to say prayers or count sheep as part of my bedtime ritual. CG laid in his bed listening to cars roll through the neighborhood guessing the model of the car based on the sound of the engine. Today, our bedroom is next to a quiet canyon that separates us from a toll road. When cars are racing on that toll road, CG can still tell what cars are in pursuit.

In June 2003 my groom’s reaction to the sign “CAR SHOW TOMORROW” was pure amazement. An unexpected bonus. This surprise superseded the main purpose for our being in San Clemente, California: our honeymoon. Our friend Sharon had arranged for an overnight stay at Casa de Elena. She had the owner decorate the bed with tulle, rose petals and had champagne chilling for us. It was so beautiful we were sure we were given the wrong room. It was warm and romantic.

The overnight stay included a lovely basket filled with breakfast that we ate in front of our cottage. After our walk to the pier, we headed towards the great pull at CG’s heart—the cars.

My father kept a clean and well-maintained car. My grandfather, Dad’s dad, insisted that my Dad learn the mechanics of a car before Dad was even allowed to drive the car. Dad wasn’t even given basic driving instructions. My grandfather threw the car keys at Dad and told Dad to drive the car home unscratched. Dad learned to swim the same way. No instruction. Dad was thrown in the ocean and expected to survive.

CG’s meticulous attention to car care is one of the many attributes my Dad appreciates in CG. I used to joke: “You know, Dad, he beats me nightly.” Deaf to my statement, Dad would respond: “But he keeps a clean car.” When my Dad opens the glove compartment of any car, he approves seeing the expected documents are in place: the DMV registration and proof of insurance.

I am not a car chick even after all these years. I have learned to find the other wives at car shows and connect with them with tacit knowledge—to smile and make eye contact as we absorb, drinking from the fire hose. It’s our version of acknowledgement akin to the wave between Corvette drivers on the street.