My Life As A Car

Here I sit - broken hearted - trying an essay - but can't get started - Burma Shave

Perhaps life can be related to a highway. As we travel, supposedly for the first time, down that road we observe many signs - signs of direction, signs of suggestion and signs of reflection. And we encounter many well meaning persons offering us assistance ini life. Not unlike law enforcement officers and highway workers, our religious leaders try to regulate the speed at which we travel to the end of our spirtual journey while our parents, teachers and others of alleged superior status in various aspects of life do their best to guide us through the various detours and road hazards we shall encounter. And as the variouis billboards along an interstate try to sell us things we really do not need, a variety of people we encounter will try to convince us there are better roads to travel, finer rest areas, tastier eateries, more exhilarating entertainment.
What, where and when? What road will we travel, where will we be when we realize we made a wrong turn and when will we decide asking directions is not an embarrassment? But before embarking on any journey a wise man will decide his mode of transportation, what vehicle shall be used. Vehicle? What if a person decides, for one reason or another, to travel afoot? Well, are not the feet and legs a form of vehicle? They are used to transport the torso from Point A to Point B, are they not? Perhaps that idea inspired the coining of the phrase "Shanks Mare".
A thought: perhaps Shank's Mare was the vehicle used to travel the highway of life by many Centenarians or even Octogenarians. Taking life slow and easy allows one more time to observe the surrounding areas, notice the hazards and make sounder decisions.
But what about me, what roads have I traveled ans what mode did I use? As I reflect upon my life I envision a used car lot at the junction of many roads, ranging from city streets to initerstate highways. Where, oh where to begin.
The start of life could be equated with a motorcycle sidecar on city streets, as life was based on parental guidance in a very limited environment. School years saw a vintage style Volswagen Beetle. A sturdy, progressive vehicle subjected to the jeers of peers. Accepted by those of similar introverted intellect while bullied by the more powerful muscle types. Not iin a great hurry to reach a goal and having enough traction to remain on the road ahead no matter what storms were encountered. The Senior Year of high school was a temporary upgrade to a Chevy Impala, luxury car of the middle class. The bullies were gone, graduated the previous year and experiencing the outside world; hopefully with payback. But the gossamer curtain of those few short months was to be removed by military life; a General Purpose Vehicle or Jeep. The jeep allowed snap decisions and gread maneuverablity as life rapidly changed from desert wagon trails to super highways and back again. But after four short years the real world appeared. Get a job! Get a haircut! Get a life! The familiar battle cries of superiors during the 1960's. To cope required a sturdy, multipurpose vehicle; one that could carry my worldly goods as well as the one who would make my world complete - enter, the pickup truck. Hard working laborer during the week and, after a good cleanup, a charming pseudo-intellect on the weekend; impressing and attracting the one soon to share my garage.
But now, as the manufacturer's warranty nears expiration I find that I have progressed through the station wagon years into the aged midsize sedan with its creaking springs, weakend shocks and occasional misfiring plugs. The last stage will be the trip to the recycling yard, the classy lloking single purpose station wagon accompanied by the big, black limousine. And as the used car lot prepares to go out of business I realize all the customers have gotten their money's worth. In spite of the little bugs here and there the overall product was quite satisfactory. Wouldn't it be nice if Ford could say the same.