So Long Howie

Last week, I sold my baby. He was only 7 years old. He was a good baby. He only acted up a few times. He didn’t eat much. He was always willing to pitch in and lend a helping hand. But I needed the money, and I couldn’t afford daycare. So I sold him and traded him in for this:



I am a horrible mother.

Here’s a picture of my baby a few weeks before I sold him.



Poor little guy. I took him to the car wash and fed him expensive city gas and loved him and adored him. We spent some quality time together, which is something we hadn’t done in awhile. He had no idea I was just making him look nice before selling him.

Then last week, I took him on his favorite ride – the one from Chicago to Missouri. We sped along 55 and zoomed past Springfield and filled up just past the state line, just like we used to do. We flew down the foothills of the Ozarks and gasped for breath on the way back up. It was just like the good old days, and we sang along to Screeching Weasel and the Indigo Girls and Bob Dylan. And the whole time he had no idea that this would be our last trip, that he wouldn’t be with me for the ride back.

I’m so sorry baby.

I made sure I found Howie a good home in Kansas City, a place where he’ll fit in better. Up here, most trucks are commercial vehicles. But down in Missouri, Howie will be able to meet other non-commercial recreational vehicles. His new owner is going to take him on trips to the lake, where he’ll help transport a new jet ski. That’s the kind of stuff Howie was made for. I just know he’ll be happier down there. Plus, his new owner said he’s going to buy him some new shoes, something I hadn’t done since the day he was born.

Hear that baby? New shoes!

Because I know his new owner, I’ll be able to visit Howie whenever I’m in KC. And they might even make a trip back up I-70 and 55 again to visit me in Chicago. But I know it won’t be the same. I just hope Howie knows I’ll never forget him. I hope he knows that I cried when I sold him, that I miss him and often think back on the 81,000 miles we shared together. I’ll always remember how he helped me move from Chicago to Columbia, and back again, and from Chicago to Syracuse, and back again.

I’ll never forget the day I brought him home when he was only 11 miles old. I’ll never forget the times he carried my bike or carried my laundry or carried my friends. I’ll never forget the trip we took to Canada or the years we lived in New York or the adventures we had in between. Remember when we got stuck in the snow in my parking lot in Syracuse, and Matt had to push us out with his SUV? Remember when we transported Scott, Aaron, Phil and Jared (Chase’s favorite roommates) across town in the back, under the tarp, lying down? Remember how we made really sharp turns that trip?



Remember how I decided to name you after my grandpa for some reason? Remember when we took Roy’s old couch to the Salvation Army, and they rejected it, so we drove it all over Columbia until I talked Ross and Alex into taking it? Remember how we used to cruise around Syracuse looking for the next Eyesore of the Week, and we often got chased away by angry neighbors? Remember how you had a bench seat, which forced all my friends to sit as close to the front of the car as I did?

I’ll always remember our good times and even the bad ones (transmission going out at 45,000 miles, battery dying in drugstore parking lot, a whole lot of fishtailing during Upstate New York winters). But good times or bad, Howie will always be my first baby (I never actually owned Beluga).

I’ll always remember the way Howie’s tailgate sounds when it’s dropped, the way I’d breathe in the summer breeze through the rear-sliding window, the way I always felt like such a tough chick because I owned a truck.

So I hope Howie realizes I loved him and that it was only after a lot of soul searching that I decided to sell him. I hope he realizes that even though I will enjoy using the money I got for him to pay off some credit card debt, and I will love not having to pay car insurance bills, and that taking public transportation to work and not having to buy gas ever makes me unbelievably happy, that I will still miss him.

Howie, you were a good little truck. For seven years you were part of my identity, and that's not an easy thing to let go.

Happy trails.