My parents have been abducted

Sometimes I wonder if my real parents have been abducted by aliens. The parents I grew up with could not possibly be the same people who are now my children’s grandparents. Some people reason that with time comes wisdom. Absolutely not true! I think my parents were wiser when I was a child. Now they think feeding children unlimited amounts of sugar, buying them anything they want, never telling them “no” and not offering an ounce of discipline is the best way to raise a child. Who are these people? The worst part is the denial! They will lead my children to believe that they were far and away the best parents in the world, which is why they are such awesome grandparents.

I saw my dad less than a handful of times during my first pregnancy. Most of my family was at the hospital the night my daughter was born. As expected so was my dad. What I never saw coming was his reaction to his first grand baby. He glowed. He beamed. He kept hugging my husband and telling him what an amazing job he had done. The next morning before breakfast was served, my dad was the first to arrive. He was mush! My daughter had abducted his heart, his soul and his reasoning ability.

So what is the best way to deal with grandparents that drive you crazy? Look on the bright side: First, a bad (which is really a good) grandparent is better than no grandparent. Second, there is a small chance they are paying you back for all the things you did to them as a child. And lastly, if you are fortunate, someday you will become a grandparent and before you know it, that new little baby will abduct your heart, your soul and your reasoning ability.

A car doesn’t make a person

If you drive a flashy car, it can mean a few things. First, you may have a large payment; second, you might desire attention; and lastly, it's possible you are overcompensating. I am not talking about a classic car that may be well deserved. I am talking about a flashy car. The big canary-yellow Hummer with chrome wheels and tinted windows (please skip this part if you own that car).

My dad had the opposite philosophy. He would always say, “Any man can get attention driving a flashy car, but only a special few will get noticed in a clunker.” If a woman turns her head to look at you in a dilapidated Dodge Dart, you know she is either taking pity on you or that you got it goin’ on!

My parents tried to teach me this philosophy as a teenager. I was responsible for purchasing my first vehicle, and boy did I find a diamond in the rough. It was a 1976 AMC Matador. She was white with a blue top. I say she, because you have to name a car with this much personality, and her name was “Maddie”. We were born the same year. She had four doors, three of which actually worked. She was incontinent, always leaking some type of fluid. She ate tires and was an excessive drinker of petroleum products. Yet, I was proud she was mine.

As with most first cars, she taught me much. I learned how to drive, how to be responsible and how to be independent. I also realized just how many of my friends cared about appearances. The few who were willing to set aside their pride and ride with me, usually did it out of desperation. And you can be guaranteed they ducked their heads whenever a cute specimen of the opposite sex was nearby. Despite my age, I knew that if you didn’t like me because of the car I drove, I probably wouldn’t want to be your friend anyway.

Even though I am much older now I still prefer the vehicles I can name. The one’s with quirks and defects, much like myself. There are others like me. Those who can afford more, yet they purposely buy the clunker: the rusty, personality-filled hunk of metal. Like my father, they want you to know that they will not fit into the mold. They are rebels. They are confident in themselves, and understand that a car will never make a person.