Car Repairs

Yesterday my school was closed because of the cold, so I was able to stay home. Mike, however, had to work, and since his car wouldn’t start I drove him there yesterday morning.

Now, the car not starting had become quite the issue. On Monday Mike’s mom called to make sure we were okay in the cold, and to ask how our cars were faring. My Prizm had started up grudgingly each day during the cold snap, but Mike’s Sable wasn’t as agreeable. In fact, it wouldn’t start on Monday morning, and so Mike had to take the bus to work and I picked him up in the evening. To Mike’s parents, this was terrible. And so even though Mike was content to wait until the weather got warmer and his car thawed out, his parents decided to take matters into their own hands and start his car themselves.

They came yesterday afternoon despite Mike’s protests. Now, they do have the tendency to come over (sometimes with warning beforehand, sometimes not), do things like work on Mike’s car or cut our lawn, and then disappear. Mike is resigned to this and just accepts it, but their unasked-for assistance drives me crazy. However, I always feel like we should invite them in, feed them, and visit for awhile since they did go to the trouble to do something nice for us. I had gone out to clean his car out when I spotted his dad working on it. His mom was there too, but since she has trouble walking she was just sitting in their minivan while Mike’s dad worked. Feeling obliged to be a good host, I sat in the van and kept his mom company while his dad labored away, and then invited them both in for hot chocolate afterward.

While Mike’s dad was working on the car he noticed that it refused to heat up no matter how long the engine ran. He was out there running the car for nearly half an hour, but the vents kept blowing cold air. Mike’s mom decided that he couldn’t drive around in a car without heat, so while they sipped the hot chocolate I’d made, Mike’s dad called the dealership and arranged to bring the Sable in the next day. I was slightly shocked because they’d done it all without consulting Mike. I remember a time or two that my car broke down when the car was at home and I was away at college, and my dad always called me to ask if I’d like him to bring it in, where I’d like it taken, etc. But his parents took care of it all and even decided how they would get Mike to work since they’d have his car.

After all that it was getting to be about 4:40, and I said that I had to go pick up Mike. Then his parents suggested that we all go, and then we’d go out for dinner afterward. While they were getting ready to go I called my slightly disoriented husband and explained to him that his parents would be picking him up, not just me, that we’d be eating out instead of eating the pancakes I’d planned to make, and that he wouldn’t have his car tomorrow but his dad would drive him to work.

As we drove to the restaurant Mike kept telling his parents that the car was fine, that it warmed up when it felt like it, and that it wasn’t a big deal. His parents responded that something was wrong, it needed to be taken care of, and that he couldn’t just take the bus.

“Why didn’t you call us yesterday when your car wouldn’t start?” Mike’s mom asked. “We would have come and gotten you!”

“I wanted to get to work on time,” Mike said, “and the bus was quicker.” I tried to picture my parents dropping me off at work without me feeling like a teenager going to her job at McDonald’s. I didn’t think it could be done.

Most of the time I’m extremely independent. I value the fact that my parents trust me enough to let me handle my own business. So when Mike’s parents constantly try to help, it feels less like assistance and more like meddling. However, after watching them that afternoon I saw that they meant well. Mike’s parents love him and they want to help him however they can. In fact, when they heard Mike’s car was having trouble on Monday night both his parents and his brother offered to come out and help him start it up. They’re a family that would do anything for one another, and while their actions sometimes drive me up the wall, their hearts are in the right place. I can’t help but respect that.

Mike’s mom asked me to help make a scrapbook of the wedding for her to have, and originally I had thought I’d just do it myself and give it to her. But maybe now I’ll buy the supplies and we can assemble it together. They really are good people, and I should get to know them better.