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At age 16 and barely licensed, I drove my mom’s car, an aging, mouse-brown Chevrolet sedan. When I was 18, my parents bought me a used Dodge sedan of my own. When I think of those cars today, I think of cruising the suburbs with the windows down. Of driving too fast down our town’s quiet streets to make curfew at night. Of playing country music loud and singing along. Of that fiercely steep learning curve that is young adulthood. When I was 24 and in February of 2004, I bought a 2002 Toyota 4Runner from a car dealership in Minnesota near where I grew up and run by a family friend. I used mostly my own money but pretty much all of my dad’s negotiation skills. I was living–and running–in Texas at that time, so my parents road tripped my new rig to Austin to hand over the reins and to cheer me on in the

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