There are few things that are capable of holding as many memories as a car.
Like many people, my first car (a 2004 silver Chevy Malibu nicknamed “The Greyhound” because of how many friends I bused around in high school) will always hold a special place in my heart.
But, there’s one family car that will always reign supreme: a 1990 white Jeep Wrangler that belonged to the Petrovia family for five glorious years.
The Jeep became part of our family after my dad spotted it at the Lemon Lot, a parking lot on Army posts where soldiers who are moving can park their cars to be sold.
There are family minivans and sportier cars that young soldiers bought with their deployment bonuses, but all have the same “For Sale” sign posted in their window with a number and “O.B.O.” scrawled in Sharpie underneath.
I can imagine that a Jeep with no doors, a less-than-pristine interior and a bikini top probably would’ve sat on the Lemon Lot for months on most posts.
But, in Schofield Barracks, Hawaii, a $3,700 price tag was a steal.
There are several reasons why riding in a Jeep Wrangler makes an elementary schooler feel so cool.
First, my family’s daily driver at the time was a white Yukon XL (nicknamed “Betty White” – yes, we like to name things) so the bar for coolness was already set pretty low for us.
Besides that, my brother’s and my most prized possessions were the mini Jeeps (mine a bright pink Barbie truck, Torey’s a black and red one) made for kids to drive around their backyards.
It was almost hard to believe that God would smile on us so brightly to not only give us our own Wranglers, but the actual, real thing.
We never forgot how lucky we were, and riding in “The Jeep” never stopped feeling like a treat.
On special Fridays, my dad would get off work early and pick us up from school in The Jeep.
There is still nothing like the thrill of seeing him pull up in the school pick-up lane and getting ready to throw on some sunglasses and cruise through town before we stopped at 7-Eleven for a Slurpee on the way home.
On the weekends, we couldn’t wait for our dad to drive us to the North Shore in The Jeep, my hair whipping my face the entire way, unshielded from the wind or the sunshine.
After we were done swimming and Boogie Boarding, we’d immediately hop into The Jeep without worrying that we would get in trouble when we inevitably got sand in the car.
Perhaps it was a blessing that my brother and I were too young to know that something so perfect couldn’t last forever.
When we found out we were moving to Fort Hood, Texas, my dad way-too-casually announced that he would be parking our Jeep back at the Lemon Lot.
This was about the most serious personal slight that could have been committed against us at this point in life.
It had to have been a weeks-long battle against my dad, with us constantly coming up with an argument that we were sure would be more convincing than our last failed attempt.
In the end, we lost the battle and shed many tears as we accepted the reality that The Jeep would no longer be ours.
Still, we had five years worth of memories that will always bind the Petrovias and our beloved Jeep.
Of course, that never stopped us from reminding our dad how much better life could have been if we just would’ve brought The Jeep with us.
–Kayleen Petrovia is a reporter for the Journal-Tribune.