In the midst of some “car talk” at a friend’s birthday dinner sometime ago, my cousin, Nikki, expressed concern over the choice of car her husband had gifted their 16-year-old son, Javi, with.
“It’s a Subaru Impreza WRX STI,” she said. The host and birthday celebrant, a race driver and a walking encyclopedia on motor vehicles who also happens to own the same make, immediately responded: “That’s fast.”
Nikki said she had misgivings early on, knowing what that car was all about — her family being car aficionados and all — but she deferred to her husband’s wishes, as she does in such matters, and because the excitement and happiness of her son overrode whatever reservations she might have held back at the time. But over dinner, her concerns were reignited.
I watched her closely as everyone at the table had something to contribute to the discussion. The birthday celebrant said candidly, but with all due respect, “That car has 300 horsepower — it’s powerful; it’s fast. I wouldn’t give my son a car like that for safety reasons. The side panels are made of aluminum; the hood is aluminum — it’s all aluminum. It’s not safe at the speeds it can travel. I’d like to think that my brother and I are alive today because my dad didn’t give us fast cars at a young age. But,” he added a caveat because Nikki’s son is a champion karter many times over, “Given that Javi is a good driver, he should be okay.”
“Javi’s a good driver but that’s on the track,” Nikki mused aloud. “Driving on the streets of Manila is another matter altogether.” She added, talking to no one in particular, “I’m going to talk to my husband about that car when I get home.”
She turned to the birthday celebrant and asked, “What would you have him drive instead?”
“Your Cayenne. It’s solid; it’s safe,” he said.
I understand her husband’s choice of the Subaru Impreza. After all, it’s the 2006 Rally World Champion. Nikki’s husband is the hardest-working man I know and a hands-on father on top of that. He has always been devoted to their two children and probably couldn’t bear to deny them what they really desired.
I empathized with Nikki as well. Any mother would be besieged by safety worries. I certainly wouldn’t want such a powerful car in the hands of my 12-year-old son, who in the last three months has grown taller than me. He, in recent years, has become a car enthusiast, educating himself via the Internet and magazines on all cars hot and cool.
He started admiring the Volkswagen Beetle at age two but has since graduated to the Audi R8. By some fate, our neighbor two doors down bought a brand-new candy apple red Audi R8 — the very stuff of my son’s dreams. He rubbernecks outside the window each time we drive past the neighbor’s, hoping to glimpse that shiny red car as I keep wishing for time to slow down so he can remain an armchair driver on Wii for many more years.
My thoughts turn again to Nikki and Javi and that Subaru Impreza WRX STI. The look alone of that car is most intimidating. If it were a person, it might resemble a short Mike Tyson: low to the ground, buff and squat, fierce, menacing, up to no good. The problem is, all those features are what make it irresistible to 16-year-old boys, and men, too — wait, all men are 16-year-old boys deep inside; so, same banana.
I rode in a Subaru STI a while back and it was love at first sight — all male, all macho, oozing testosterone. About the ride, I thought: Man it’s noisy, as any racecar would sound, which makes it extremely conspicuous on the road. Its fierce look, courtesy of the wide body design, plus its famous Subaru boxer engine, plus all the ruckus it makes certainly gives it an aggressive road presence. It definitely calls attention to itself — not something a mother would choose for a young son.
Consider this equation: Friday or Saturday late night, on some semi-lit, semi-deserted road in the city, your son driving his beast of a Subaru with a couple of friends stopped at a red light beside a lesser car of inebriated, perhaps older party boys, on edge and looking for some sort of action. Plug in the missing variables and you realize that the unknown isn’t quite unknown after all.
That visual is what will make me opt for a second-hand, two-door, pickup truck for my son, something huge and slow and big enough for only two people — not an entire party. I’m thinking of those huge, ancient American cars, those so-called Detroit land yachts that would provide a thick cocoon of sheet metal around my son. A pickup truck might have a tendency to roll, yes, but if it lifts my son above the threat of other vehicles’ fenders then I want it. But maybe a second-hand Volvo would do the trick. Volvos have always had the reputation of being safe, indestructible, a bit boring — made by no-nonsense, straightforward Swedes from a country of freezing temperatures and sunless days, of people who work an honest week in factories like Ikea, dockyards and auto plants, and who subsist on herring. Yeah, definitely a Volvo. A Volvo engineer invented the three-point seat belt and I want that famous roll bar around my son.
Here’s the bind: I want my son to be happy — don’t we all? — but I doubt that a barge on wheels or a granny antique Volvo is something he’d be excited about. These cars seem more suited to a demolition derby than a high school or college parking lot.
Isn’t it important that we put our children in a vehicle they’ll be proud to drive, especially one equipped with modern safety features like anti-lock brakes and multiple air bags — front, side, plus over and under if possible?
According to Michael Smith, a research psychologist who works in safety programs for the National Highway Traffic Safety Administration (NHTSA) in the US, “The heavier the vehicle the better. This is a physics lesson. When two things run into each other, the heaviest wins.”
“Size matters, absolutely,” adds David Cavano, manager of auto purchasing services for the Automobile Club of Southern California. He says, “It’s a big issue, especially when you get on a freeway. Get into a small two-door car and pull up next to a sport utility vehicle. The bumpers just don’t match. The higher you sit on the freeway, the more the chassis and frame are going to absorb the impact. Kids think they’re indestructible, so parents have to provide protection for them.”
According to the Insurance Institute for Highway Safety in America, “Teenagers should drive vehicles that reduce their chances of a crash and offer state-of-the-art protection in case they do crash.”
In defense of Javi’s gorgeous Subaru I’m thinking: Regardless of the vehicle, as I’m sure safety experts would agree, isn’t the most important factor the driver’s proper training?
I read further into the NHTSA article and found Smith saying, “What the person does behind the wheel is more important than the vehicle specifically. What we recommend for young people is graduated licensing so that they’re adequately prepared.”
A car is a machine, after all; it’s not going to do something the driver doesn’t make it do. But then again the driver is only one of the many factors involved in any typical driving scenario: there are other cars and drivers on the road, coming from all directions; for teens there’s peer pressure to speed up, distracting comments, blaring music; there may be alcohol involved and, therefore, impaired senses.
I guess the key to educating kids about driving is not to delegate the teaching to the family driver who may have bad habits. Let’s do it ourselves by enrolling kids in licensed, reputable driving schools.
I remember a good friend, Freddie Reyes, told me that he started his kids’ initiation into the world of cars at the bottom: by having them clean and detail his own car. After that, he had them master changing a flat tire. Finally, he drilled them on what to do in case of a breakdown on the road. He isn’t known as brainy Freddie for nothing.
Before sitting down to write this, I went to my son and said, “After almost a year of driving by that neighbor’s R8 and salivating over it, what do you think about walking over and having a closer look?”
He stood up without a peep. We went downstairs, taking our time, pressed the gate button, waited for it to open, and walked two houses down — still without saying a word. We finally reached the neighbor’s gate and there was the magnificent candy apple red Audi R8. We stood there, his arm draped across my shoulder, mine around his waist, beholding it in total silence. And then we slowly turned around and headed home. Just as we reached our gate, I said to him, “In time, and with hard work.”
He said, “I know.”
I thought of my nephew, Javi, as we entered the house. Here’s my prayer to him and his brand new Subaru: Stay grounded.
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Thank you for your letters. You may reach me at cecilelilles@yahoo.com.