My father was a strawberry farmer, and his father was one too. But that's where that ends. Neither my brothers nor I have really shown any interest in managing or working farm fields. Actually, my dad doesn't really anymore either since he stopped working in that field of work about five years ago.

I am a few weeks away from graduating from college and I will be the first in my immediate family to do so. There were no footsteps for me to follow, no legacy to continue.

There was a possibility in high school. My dad and his siblings went to North Monterey County High School. Later, both of my brothers and almost all of my cousins graduated from their within a few years of each other. In a couple more years, even more will be graduated and others will begin attending. I never got the chance to be part of that legacy.

In fact, there really aren't any traditions in my family that I have followed or been a part of. We don't even really have any besides attending the high school. This has a lot to do with the fact my family is one of immigrants.

If there were ever any traditions my parents or their families had, they did not cross the border with them. Instead, we have been forging our own paths, our own traditions, our own legacy here.

While it is nice to have no forced path or expectations, it is also somewhat disheartening. It can feel at times like I have no roots, like I have nothing to hold onto but stories about towns I did not grow up and can only ever visit as a tourist, not a local, no matter what we try.

However, with graduation just weeks away I hope to change that. You see, almost a decade ago my dad made a deal with my brothers and I concerning a car. Whoever was the first to graduate from college would get the beautiful cherry red '66 fastback Mustang in our garage.

I thought I had no chance in hell since I was the youngest. Yet, I'm about to be the first in my family to graduate. As long as I don't somehow crash and burn in 5 weeks, the car is mine. And I can't wait.

I've loved that car for as long as I can remember. So many of my childhood memories that I have with my dad have to do with that car and with driving in general.

I remember him taking us for drives down Cannery Row and next to Fishermen's Wharf in Monterey in that car, Lou Bega playing in the background. I remember sitting on his lap and steering our old Chevy truck while he barely pressed the gas. I remember riding in the bed of that truck from ranch to ranch. I even remember the first time my dad ever really let me drive anything by myself. It was the old quad he used to check the fields. I pulled the throttle so hard I immediately drove into a fence.

Inheriting this car means everything to me because in a way it guarantees that I will be part of a legacy. It means that my kids will one day have memories of a beautiful red Mustang in their home garage, or being able to go cruising right next to the ocean. It means that one day I will be able to pass it on to whichever of my kids is the first to graduate from college and they can pass it on to their kids.

It means that we will have a tradition all our own here where we haven't had any before.