The Full Suburban: What’s one more dent in the teenager’s car?

Once your kids start driving, at least one of your cars becomes what is known as “the teenager car.” It doesn’t matter if, up until they took it over, it was the most luxurious car you owned. It doesn’t matter that it had never had a dent, or that the interior had been kept impeccably clean, or that it had never before been driven over a cement parking lot barrier. None of that matters any more once the teenagers get a hold of it, because once they do, it’s all over; it’s no longer a car fit for adult use.

We have two “teenager cars” at the moment: one a 2002 Subaru Outback that we purchased a few years ago so our kids would have to learn how to drive a stick shift; and the other a 2011 Toyota Camry that was for years Logan’s car and considered to be the crown jewel of the Ditto Fleet.

And then the teenagers got a hold of it. Back when Lucy was learning to drive, she had a little trouble mastering the stick shift of the Outback. So for the first couple of months after she got her license, she and Logan swapped cars. He would drive the Outback to work, and Lucy would take his spotless Camry to school and other activities. It remained pristine for about three weeks, at which point Lucy backed into her first car, thus setting off a chain reaction of several more dings and scratches.

Finally, Logan put his foot down and told her that he was reclaiming his car, so she’d better figure out how to drive a stick shift or she’d be walking to school. She became proficient overnight.

Soon enough, George got his license, and we had two teenage drivers in the house. They shared the Outback for a long time, arranging schedules and rides so they could accommodate each other’s need to be in different places at different times.

But sometimes, the car sharing became unmanageable. The Camry got called into action more and more whenever Logan wasn’t using it, and its abuse at the hands of the teenagers continued. Some stitching pulled out of the leather seats. The sun visor came loose and refused to stay in place. Bulky football gear was continually left in the trunk, and there was a general aroma of french fries that permeated the entire vehicle.

“I’ve been thinking of getting a new car for a long time,” Logan said to me one night. “Maybe I should just do it now and turn the Camry totally over to the kids.”

“Sounds good to me,” I replied. “It’s looking pretty rough anyway, kind of like a car in “Jurassic Park” that’s been knocked around by some dinosaurs.”

Eventually, Logan became the proud owner of a new car, and the Camry completely fell to the teenagers. That was a little less than a year ago.

Recently, Logan’s brother came to town and we told him he could drive the Camry to the airport to catch his early morning flight. In exchange for not having to wake up early to drive to the airport, Logan and I had to go there later that night to pick up the Camry from the parking lot and drive it back home.

I was the lucky winner who got to drive the Camry, and I’ll tell you what: It felt like I was driving a covered wagon. This formerly luxurious car had simply been teenager-ed to death. The windshield was dirty, the washer fluid was empty, the headlights were dim, the seat felt weird, the brakes were annoying. By the time I got home, I was longing for the civilization of my used-but-well-kept Suburban.

And Logan? A few months after he purchased his brand new car, he backed it out of our garage and into the car belonging to Lucy and George’s friend, Emma. Sick to his stomach and with his pride significantly bruised, he called Emma’s dad, Justin.

“I’m so sorry,” Logan said. “There’s just a tiny dent; we’ll pay to get it fixed.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Justin replied. “Your car is the one I feel bad about. Who cares about one more dent in a teenager car?”

One more dent, indeed. I couldn’t agree more.

Julia Ditto shares her life with her husband, six children and a random menagerie of farm animals in Spokane Valley. She can be reached at dittojulia@gmail.com.