Dear Daddy,

I know I never thank you enough, but this is my attempt to fix that, just this once. You see, I know my car is awful. It's falling apart. And I am not complaining, because I really can't afford a new one right now.

I'm here because no matter what was wrong with my car, you did your best to keep it running. You were even willing to drive three hours on your day off because I had called you frustrated and crying to tell you something was wrong with it, though I was not sure what that "something" was.

The thing is, my car does a lot for me. It gets me to and from school when I need a weekend home. It takes me to work and the grocery store. My senior year of high school, I even slept in the back seat of it when my class camped out on the front lawn. My car has sat in a garage for three months because I got in an accident and trashed my front end. It sat in the yard for a year when I was too nervous to learn how to drive it. And sitting all that time did a number on it. Everything is rusting out, slowly but surely.

Around Thanksgiving, it was the computer sensor. Every light on my dash was on, and I couldn't figure out why. You tore apart my front right side to put the new sensor in, and all of the lights went out, and I sighed with relief.

At winter break, it was my fuel line. I was supposed to come home in two more days, but my fuel line sprung a leak when I was on my way to dinner. I called you in a panic, and you had your cousin out there the next morning to get it fixed.

Then it was my windshield wiper, which went completely off my car twice during rain storms- once detaching itself. You got a new arm to put on it, and that was that.

Most recently, it was my exhaust and tail pipe. The welding broke off cleanly, and was just barely not dragging the ground. The noise was loud and obnoxious. I was afraid to drive anywhere without it dropping lower to the ground and causing sparks. Yet, after having two other people help me get it to where it wouldn't fall, I got my car to you, and you made it work again.

But perhaps the most important thank you I need to give you, daddy, is for what you taught me. Thanks to you, I know how to crawl under my car and tell you what was wrong on the weekends when you couldn't make the drive to see it yourself. I can identify what the mysterious noise is, what is leaking, and what might need fixed. I know how to check my oil, and jump my car. Thanks to you, I may not be a mechanic, but I am a mechanic's daughter. Thanks to you, I may not be able to fix it myself, but I can tell the people who can fix it what is wrong. (Trust me, I have seen some teenage boys impressed when I walk in to a parts store and tell them what I need.)

So thank you, daddy, for being my mechanic. But most of all, for teaching me how to be a mechanic's daughter.