Our van is a teenager.
Our van is a teenager. A 17-year-old, to be exact. Soon to be 18. Now, I’m not a parent, but I have taught high school for two decades, so I feel like I know this bunch pretty well. 17. It’s an age that’s wrapped up in contradictions—caught between innocence and its opposite (what is that even called??), adolescence and adulthood, immaturity and maturity. 17 has its sights on the future, on colleges and careers. 17 is almost done with school and authority. And 17 takes every opportunity to let us know that it’s an adult...well, almost. 17 can be going along swimmingly until it decides to assert its independence and rebel. Just for the hell of it. 17 can wow us with just how wise and mature it’s become and then, in the next second, exasperate us and make us wonder, “I thought we were past that.”
Yup, our van is 17. We bought a teenager. It’s finicky and rebellious. Sure, it’s on its best behavior in front of friends and family, but when it’s just us: watch out. Just when we think we have it figured out, it surprises us—another code triggering the check engine light, another growth spurt (read: repair), another drain on the expenses. Oh yeah, 17 can be expensive...and provides hints at future expenses.
We bought our 17-year-old van knowing we would have to address a few issues. Sure, no problem. Like a lot of parents of teens, we listened to others (read: checked the Internet and went down the rabbit hole of Internet forums). We trusted the previous owner’s assessments, which turned out to be both true and not quite as true. We’re learning the way all parents do, I guess: through trial and error.
I almost feel bad for the guys at the VW dealership. Almost. In terms of parenting styles, G is good cop to my bad cop. That’s why he’s been dealing with the dealership. “How can they not figure this out?,” I asked G. “Don’t they know we have a three-week road trip coming up?” G reassured me that he had told them. “But did you tell them or did you really tell them?” Yes, this is why G is a much better person to handle this stuff than I.
You might recall from an earlier post that we bought the van in November for $15K—under our budget of $20K. Within the first few months of ownership, though, our costs rose to $17K—after having to repair an oil leak and purchase an entirely new ECM. That, we were told, would solve the issue of the check engine light. And like the parents to whom the teenager assures, “It won’t happen again,” we believed what we were told.
Then, while taking the van on its maiden camping voyage to Hermit Island Campground in Maine over Memorial Day Weekend, we had that moment when our van—our teen—made us rethink whether bringing it into our world was a good decision or not.
The check engine light went off—again—but this time, it was a different code, not the one that we knew was an issue in the first place, necessitating the purchase of a new ECM. My first thought: F*** (that’s typically my first thought in just about all situations). Then, “Did we just sink two grand into a new ECM FOR NO REASON???” G was his typical calm, cool, and collected self. Note: I am rarely any of those and certainly never all at once. Balance, people, it’s all about balance.
We returned from Maine, and G made an appointment to take the van back into he dealership that week so they could figure out the new code/check engine light issue. Then, as if to totally piss us off and give us the finger (if vehicles could do such a thing), the van died. G couldn’t jump it, nor could the AAA guy. And so began the saga that started with a tow truck and ended with more repairs. This time, a new issue: it had died because the key G had been using once we returned home from the camping trip had not been paired with the new ECM. Um, shouldn’t they have told us that BOTH keys needed to be paired? Okay, live and learn. The new sensor code issue? The result of a hole in a pipe that had been DUCT-TAPED!!! I’m not sure who thought that was going to be a good idea, but it landed us with a $400 repair. Oh, and the brakes needed replacing—and not just the brake pads but new rotors too. Oh, and while we’re at it, the van really did need new tires. Could we have waited on those? Probably, but G is a “better safe than sorry” kind of guy. Teens and vans: money pits. But damn, how we love them still.
At this point, our $15K “investment” is up to $21K. But we’re okay with that. After all, it’s just begun to bring us joy, and we’re looking forward to the days ahead...it’s 17, after all, and we know the challenges that come with being 17. Pretty soon, eventually, it will be out of the house (in this case, off the road) and we’ll miss the days when it gobbled all of our money, gave us our fair share of headaches, made us worry—but also made us laugh and gave us some pretty awesome memories. Here’s to 17!