A Christmas Stocking Full of Advice − 24 December, 2007
This story follows Coal in My Stocking This Christmas. I am at the park with our dog when the man from the transmission shop telephones. He has made my car drivable, but it is not yet sound. His first line of defense, testing and possibly replacing the solenoids, would cost $550. After this work, the car might still unsafe to drive, at which point he’d have to open up the transmission, which would cost over $1,500.
I’ve been down that road once already with this car. Less than two months ago I had put a used transmission into my car for $1,200. Although I love this car, I don’t think anyone I know will recommend that I sink another $1,500 or more into a 15-year-old car.
The mechanic admits that he’s never had any luck with used transmissions. He explains that a used transmission is typically from a junkyard and could be 15 years old. This explanation clarifies for me the magnitude of the mistake I have made.
Back at the house, I lay the situation out for my mom and dad. They are surprised that I had a used transmission installed, and not a rebuilt or new transmission. Perhaps I should have asked for a new transmission. But my mechanic never gave me the option of purchasing a rebuilt transmission.
My dad asks more probing questions about why I decided to put a used transmission into my car rather than replacing the car. I try to explain, but he just shakes his head in disbelief. He recalls a mistake that he once made. In his youth he owned a car that was “too much car for the transmission”. He blew out two or three transmissions before he saw the pattern and abandoned the car.
Dad assures me that most people would not have made the decisions I made. He urges me to forget my affection for the car and to realize that it is just a “thing”. It is not worth any further investment. Although he doesn’t go so far as to call me a fool, he uses the word “foolish”. He is probably right about the car not being worth further investment. However, now I feel that even if I wanted to save the car, I could not do so and still look him in the eye.
I confer with my husband to get his perspective. Although we discuss the problem at length, he reaches the conclusion that abandoning the car is a reasonable approach. But he does not insist that it is the only reasonable approach.
He has done something for me that my dad did not. He has empowered me to think the problem through for myself. He wants me to be comfortable with my decision because I believe it is the right one, and not because someone has told me it is the only reasonable course of action.
After this discussion, I return my brother’s call. Although he defies most people’s definitions of success, even he is aghast that I put $2,200 into a 15-year-old car. He offers “no (further) comment”.
The next day, Christmas Day, my uncle (a vintage car buff) brings yet another perspective to bear. To him, the overriding concern is that my old car has no airbags. He believes it is crucial that I acquire a car with airbags. Even more startling (to me) is his suggestion that we take into account the amount of money we will pay to rent a car to travel to Connecticut, and then back to our home in Michigan. He urges us to buy a car the next day instead of paying for a rental car and then buying our next car in our hometown.
The idea of buying a car in a single day in a faraway city is foreign to me. It is not a course of action I would even consider. Strangely, my dad later makes a similar suggestion and seems surprised when I reject the idea.
At the end of the day, I reflect that each person has brought a unique perspective or approach to the problem. I like my husband’s approach the best. It is logical, compassionate, and measured. His approach is about the process, not about the “only right decision”. With him as my partner (and not my dad, my brother, or my uncle), I can learn to make better decisions rather than having people tell me what the “right” decision is.
I’ve been down that road once already with this car. Less than two months ago I had put a used transmission into my car for $1,200. Although I love this car, I don’t think anyone I know will recommend that I sink another $1,500 or more into a 15-year-old car.
The mechanic admits that he’s never had any luck with used transmissions. He explains that a used transmission is typically from a junkyard and could be 15 years old. This explanation clarifies for me the magnitude of the mistake I have made.
Back at the house, I lay the situation out for my mom and dad. They are surprised that I had a used transmission installed, and not a rebuilt or new transmission. Perhaps I should have asked for a new transmission. But my mechanic never gave me the option of purchasing a rebuilt transmission.
My dad asks more probing questions about why I decided to put a used transmission into my car rather than replacing the car. I try to explain, but he just shakes his head in disbelief. He recalls a mistake that he once made. In his youth he owned a car that was “too much car for the transmission”. He blew out two or three transmissions before he saw the pattern and abandoned the car.
Dad assures me that most people would not have made the decisions I made. He urges me to forget my affection for the car and to realize that it is just a “thing”. It is not worth any further investment. Although he doesn’t go so far as to call me a fool, he uses the word “foolish”. He is probably right about the car not being worth further investment. However, now I feel that even if I wanted to save the car, I could not do so and still look him in the eye.
I confer with my husband to get his perspective. Although we discuss the problem at length, he reaches the conclusion that abandoning the car is a reasonable approach. But he does not insist that it is the only reasonable approach.
He has done something for me that my dad did not. He has empowered me to think the problem through for myself. He wants me to be comfortable with my decision because I believe it is the right one, and not because someone has told me it is the only reasonable course of action.
After this discussion, I return my brother’s call. Although he defies most people’s definitions of success, even he is aghast that I put $2,200 into a 15-year-old car. He offers “no (further) comment”.
The next day, Christmas Day, my uncle (a vintage car buff) brings yet another perspective to bear. To him, the overriding concern is that my old car has no airbags. He believes it is crucial that I acquire a car with airbags. Even more startling (to me) is his suggestion that we take into account the amount of money we will pay to rent a car to travel to Connecticut, and then back to our home in Michigan. He urges us to buy a car the next day instead of paying for a rental car and then buying our next car in our hometown.
The idea of buying a car in a single day in a faraway city is foreign to me. It is not a course of action I would even consider. Strangely, my dad later makes a similar suggestion and seems surprised when I reject the idea.
At the end of the day, I reflect that each person has brought a unique perspective or approach to the problem. I like my husband’s approach the best. It is logical, compassionate, and measured. His approach is about the process, not about the “only right decision”. With him as my partner (and not my dad, my brother, or my uncle), I can learn to make better decisions rather than having people tell me what the “right” decision is.
