You’ve heard this story before.  Young bachelor finds love.  Young bachelor buys love.  Young bachelor drives first love and finds second love.  Young bachelor marries second love.  Young bachelor and second love make third love.  Young bachelor, second love, and third love can’t all fit into first love.  Bye bye first love.

Trust Me. That’s Not a Real Smile…

As of today, my beloved 1993 Carrera (in red of course) will be leaving us and going back to the motherland.  After spending its youth here in the United States, the 911 will mark its 21st birthday in Germany.  It will be set free on the autobahn to redline to its heart’s content.  Maybe it will fall for a beautiful Maserati

As for me, it’s a bittersweet goodbye.  I’ve put a lot of blood, sweat, and blood into fixing up the quintessential, most recognized 911 model ever built.  But as my ears, nose, and family grow larger, it is time to make room for all that extra growth…and this Porsche is not equipped to carry more than Steph and I (until stashing kids and dogs in a trunk becomes legal in CA).

Bye bye 911.  Maybe we will see each other again someday…maybe 20 years from now when the fledglings have flown the coop and we, old birds, are looking to recapture a semblance of our youth.  Steph and I will once again be behind your steering wheel…this time barely able to see the dashboard and hear if the engine is on or off.  We’ll drive you with the top down, my toupee blowing in the wind and Steph’s silver-blue wig firmly planted on the rear wind screen after having peeled off of her head.  We will cruise in the fast lane at 25mph under the limit and never move over into a slower lane for speeding traffic, for our Porsche is built for speed even if we won’t use it.  It will take us 5 minutes to get into and out of the Carrera and we’ll wonder why they don’t build these damn cars for old folks like us.

This chapter is closed and a new one just opened.  I went from us two to we three in a blink of an eye.  I’ve morphed into family guy man.  So when you see me pull up to the intersection in my dirty minivan and our eyes meet, try not to look at me as a poor soul hampered by a van overflowing with screaming kids, squeaking toys and stale cookie crumbs.  When you rev your sports car and peel away from the light with me in your rearview mirror, don’t scoff and sneer.  Just remember this.  Chances are pretty good that my kids have flicked some boogers on your nice paint job.

Minivan, here we come…

Worm, car-ma is going to pay you back for this!!!

Gavin – 12; Dad – 7