Two doors, one lesson
What my sporty coupe taught me about the value of hearing your mom out
Can you tell how hyped I am about my first car? I felt as elated as Cinderella must have been when that pumpkin was transformed into her coach. And I didn’t even need a fairy godmother to make my new ride happen—I bought this car all by myself.
My brand-new ‘89 Pontiac Grand Am would be a big step up from the ‘78 Malibu Classic hand-me-down sedan I’d been driving.
This car was about to drive me into full-blown adulthood. I had one semester of grad school left, and then my Hot Wheels would ferry me back and forth to the cool job I was sure I would land right after graduation. (Spoiler alert: That didn’t turn out like I expected.) No doubt my new car would see its share of road trips too.
I was proud of myself for navigating my first big-ticket purchase all by myself. I researched my options, made the rounds of the car dealerships, and test-drove the final candidates with my fiancé along for the ride. I even negotiated the price and got myself a car loan. (Now I would have car loan payments just like so many other grown-ups!)
The only rain on my car parade came just before I returned to the dealership to complete the final paperwork. My mom raised a question that never occurred to me–was it wise to buy a two-door car?
I couldn’t understand why my mom was being such a buzzkill. What did it matter whether my car had two doors or four doors? It was only going to be ferrying my soon-to-be husband and me around. Who cared how easy it was for someone to get into and out of the back seat? If we had any other passengers, they’d just have to deal, or we’d take someone else’s car.
I wrote my mom’s hand-wringing off to the fact that she hadn’t been there to look over my shoulder as I navigated buying the car. Or maybe it was just that my mom didn’t like two-door vehicles—after all, our family had never had one.
Since I had carefully evaluated my options and was happy with my choice, I went ahead with purchasing my sporty coupe.
The Grand Am and I went on to log many happy miles together. We zipped down the highway together on the way to my Big Pharma job. Since it was a 50-mile round-trip commute, I listened to a lot of FM radio. I can still picture myself trying to get another coat of nail polish on as I inched along in traffic during the last leg of the journey. The Grand Am was perfect for a DINK (double-income no-kids) like me.
Despite my mom’s misgivings about my two-door car, I never felt any buyer’s remorse—until eight years after I bought the car.
Suddenly, I finally understood my mom’s concern over the Grand Am’s missing two doors. In 1997, baby Cassie arrived, and I discovered how hard it is to get a baby into and out of a car seat in the backseat of a two-door car.
Within weeks, my husband and I concluded it was time to trade the Grand Am in for a four-door car. Soon a Dodge Intrepid was parked in our garage.
It wasn’t a tragedy. We had gotten eight years of service and many happy miles out of my Grand Am. But it sure would have been nice if we hadn’t had to buy a new car so soon after purchasing a new house and having a baby.
So what’s the moral of this story?
I wouldn’t say it’s to only buy cars with four doors.
I can’t even say that it’s to always do what your mom recommends because if I had it to do over again, I still might have bought my Grand Am.
I would say the moral is to listen when your mom (or another wise person older than you) offers advice.
Your mom has spent decades accumulating wisdom through her life experiences. She’s faced scenarios that may not even occur to you, and she may be able to see things that you can’t see yet.
While you may ultimately decide not to follow a piece of her advice for any number of reasons, it’s at least worth considering what she has to say.
When my mom expressed her misgivings, I wish she had explained why she thought a four-door car might be a better long-term investment than a two-door car for an about-to-be-married 20-something who planned on having a family someday. If she had, perhaps I would have reevaluated.
But sometimes people aren’t good at articulating the reasons for their positions. Maybe my mom didn’t want to bring up how hard it would be to get a baby into and out of a backseat because she didn’t want me to think she was trying to pressure me to produce a grandchild sooner rather than later.
So I guess maybe the lesson is this—when your mom raises an objection or makes an observation that seems a little off-the-wall to you, probe further with a simple reply like, “That’s interesting. Why do you say that?”
It will be up to you whether you follow her recommendations. But you might as well consider what your mom has to say before you simply chalk it up to “mom has different preferences/would make different choices than me” and dismiss it.
As with anyone’s advice, we should recognize that our mileage may vary. But you never know when mom’s wisdom may be helpful as you steer your own course.
The most meaningful gift we can give our grown children isn’t guidance or answers…
It’s our stories. The real ones. The imperfect ones. The ones that didn’t go according to plan.
I recently joined Jodi on her Dare On podcast to talk about how sharing our lived experiences can open doors with our adult kids that advice alone often can’t.
We explore:
✨ Why stories tend to land where advice gets dismissed
🙏 The health scare that pushed me to start writing down what I wanted my daughters to know
💛 A simple but powerful question that can shift how you connect with your adult children
👀 And a little bonus moment at the end we almost left out!
The episode is now live 🎙️ — I’d love for you to listen and share it with someone in your life who desires a deeper, more honest connection with their grown kids.
