Not A Ferrari

In 1991 we bought a brand new Ford Taurus Station wagon. It was our first new car purchase. We had been married for ten years. Our family had grown to include three daughters and they had friends, so the station wagon seemed like a good choice. We could fit seven people in the car, all with seat belts. It was a very accommodating and comfortable car.

The winters in Western Michigan are very hard on cars. The salt used on icy roads bites into the finish leaving most cars speckled with rust before they are even paid for. It was not long before our new car fell victim to the damage. Our not so pretty new car never dampened the fun of loading kids into the car for an afternoon of sledding.

By the time we paid off our Taurus the rust had eaten through the bottom panels of the front driver and passenger doors. The engine turned over reliably even on the coldest mornings. The looks had no bearing on teaching two daughters how to drive. It was safe and got them where they were going. When we turned the car over to our oldest girls as “their” car, their eyes were blinded to the rust by the excitement of having their own car to drive.

Our 1991 Ford Taurus never won any races, was never coveted by middle aged men or women, it did not come in custom colors, ours was white, it was no Ferrari that is certain.

Just a few points of clarification: Ferrari minimum cost = $200,000; takes two years to make AFTER you order it; seats two; has fuel pump problems; wins races; is never used to teach someone to drive. Taurus minimum cost =$14,999 in 1991 and $27,110 now; can be driven off the lot on the day of purchase; seats up to seven; has longevity; is a family memory maker.

Where is this going? Pretty dull so far? Now I come to the point.

The other day my husband and I went to his check-up with our family doctor. As we were reviewing a fairly extensive list of medications and chronic health problems my fifty-five-year-old husband started looking pretty frustrated. He always goes back to how he eats right, exercises, was very athletic, had a non-sedentary career, has not smoked in more than 30 years, rarely drinks, and yet he has three of the top 5 leading causes of death for men over fifty-five. “Why?” lays on my husband’s tongue every minute of every day. The doctor finally answered his question.

Doctor: Some people are born Ferraris and some people are born Ford Tauruses. A Ferrari is fast, sleek, nothing wrong under the hood, blemish free, ideal. A Taurus, on the other hand, starts most days, needs yearly maintenance, has limits on speed and beauty, is prone to rust and no one wants to look under the hood. You, my friend, are not a Ferrari. Very few people are. Most people arrive at fifty-five with a few dings and scratches. They have quirks just like the car. Maybe you have to stick a screwdriver under the hood to get it to start, or the windows don’t go all the way down but, over all, it takes you down the road a few more miles.
So my sweet husband is not a Ferrari. So what? I like him just the way he is. Besides, there is only room in our garage for one Ferrari. Wink.