May 23, 2025: The Final Lap

Seeing it shocked me.

Several years ago when I visited my hometown, my dad had something waiting for me that I didn’t expect.

As I pulled into his driveway, he greeted me with a grin and a surprise he’d been saving. There, gleaming in the sun like a ghost from my past… was my first car.

A silver 1982 Honda Accord 5-speed hatchback. Running — sort of.

I couldn’t believe my eyes. That little vehicle hauled me through my teens, college, grad school, and into early marriage. We had shared many life adventures together, and my friends lovingly called it “The Silver Bullet.”

After I moved away, Dad had stashed the car behind the garage, coaxing the hatchback out now and then for short errands, like a retired workhorse still trotting around the pasture.

But mostly, it sat in his backyard. Out of sight, rusting in silence.

So, two decades later, my dad casually says, “Got the Honda started. Wanna go for a spin?”

Did I ever.

I wedged the kids inside and settled at the wheel. Time stopped. Everything looked and felt just as I remembered.

With a twist of the key, the engine coughed, then roared to life.

As we cruised the neighborhood, memories flooded every gear shift. The years melted away. I was 17 again, with cassette tapes and a curfew. The rough ride and peeling paint couldn’t stop my heart from racing.

Afterward, when I finally handed the keys back to my dad, I somehow knew it was goodbye. The last ride. And sure enough, a few months later, he sold it.

But for a few minutes on a random Saturday afternoon, I had climbed into a time machine for one final magic journey. The best drive of my life.

Sometimes I don’t recognize “last times,” but other times I do, like that whirl around the block in the Accord.

We anticipate firsts. Graduations. Jobs. Babies. But we rarely notice the lasts. Some goodbyes even show up dressed as regular days, slipping by in disguise.

The last time walking the high school halls.
The last wave to a friend you’ll never see again.
The last cannonball in a neighborhood pool.
The last diaper changed for a child who’s suddenly grown.

I can’t stop the lasts, but I can savor the moments, knowing any one might be the final lap. And that makes me gentler and more grateful.

Silver Bullet, wherever you may be, here’s to you.