Why I Love My First Car

I was incredibly lucky enough to get my first car at 16. My mom promised we could go car shopping once I had my license, and she felt I was responsible enough to take care of a car. So, we went over to the car dealership on a day in June, about a month after my birthday.

At around 10 minutes of roaming around the first dealership, I already had spotted the car that I so badly wanted to be mine. It was a used 2009 gray Volkswagen Passat. I could swear it shone in the sun. It was the perfect size and only had been owned for a year by the previous driver. My mom and I sat down with one of the dealers and co-signed for the wonderful new vehicle that I now got to call mine.

Here I am, around four years later, and my Volkswagen still works like a charm. Sure, it’s broken down a few times, but it’s never been a huge deal. Sometimes I feel like my car is taunting me, though. I once broke down on an exit entering I-95 coming back to Williamsburg. Cars whizzed by, and I almost started crying because I thought I was going to get hit. Another time, I broke down right before a lacrosse tournament with my teammates in my car. Needless to say, we have invested a lot in it. Otherwise, it’s always been a sturdy first car.

My Volkswagen holds so many good memories and so many bad ones. I’ve cried, laughed and jammed out in it. I’ve scratched it up with a bush on accident. I’ve driven to dates with my boyfriend, and I’ve spent so many hours in it going to and from Northern Virginia and Williamsburg.

I’m not sure how much longer this thing will last. All I know is that I have a reliable, sturdy car to get me thorough my high school years and the rest of my college years. Hopefully, I will still be able to make memories in my car for a long time. Those memories are some of my favorites.