It was my first real Chrysler and I loved it. I would still like to have it. It had all the bells and whistles a guy could want (told me when I was running out of gas, had a compass that made for exciting cross country trips with no map; just my sense of direction; up to the minute gas mileage reports) and a comfort ride that my wife found nice. It was closing in on 230,000 miles but I was attached to it. I kept replacing old parts with new ones but the patchwork was only temporary because new parts couldn’t keep the old from continued deterioration. Even using premium high octane gasoline would not save it. It was falling apart whenever I took it out but I loved it and didn’t want another car.
Then my Hmong friends intervened. They said that they wanted to replace the car that I had used up raising awareness and support on their behalf. I was reluctant because I didn’t want to give up my old interesting friend. I was comfortable with him even though it was obvious he couldn’t continue to serve me like he had used to do. They were insistent. They gave me a new car to replace this car that I loved when I made a trip to see my daughter. I couldn’t refuse. It would be an insult to do so. I needed a car and they loved me enough to sacrifice to give me this gift. It was time to trade the old for the new.
I still wonder sometimes about where that old car is and whether I could get it back. I was attached to it and in many ways still am. I know, in a small way, what it meant to the traditionalist who were comfortable in their old ways to be challenged to a new way of thinking and doing things in their quest for God.