Nate - UMass Amherst

“My dream car! Parked right downtown!”

I scramble to pull out my phone to share this find with my friends. The third-generation 2002 Toyota Soarer is a sleek coupe with a legendary 2jz-gte engine, known to make 600 horsepower. I’ve been working extra shifts at Sauce, a burger place, in order to save up for a project car like this one.

I can trace my love for cars back to creating elaborate Lego vehicles, but when my friend Tyler started an RC Car Club in middle school, thereby introducing speed and power to design, I was hooked. As I learned how to change gear ratios and torque, our yard filled with ramps I built to launch vehicles far beyond their initial capability. The hours that our club spent racing and inevitably repairing vehicles led to my learning about all kinds of cars. My Uncle Eddie and I started exchanging texts: “Nate, I found a 2011 Porsche Cayman S with 125K miles. What do you think?” He understood my passion for cars better than anyone.

One spring morning, my mother woke me up and led me downstairs, filming the whole procession. As my excitement rose, I saw the Camry, a grandma car, sitting in the driveway. “Uncle Eddie bought it for you,” I vaguely heard my mother say. This Camry wasn’t powerful like a Nissan 350Z, a car that my uncle and I had discussed. I couldn’t mod it with aftermarket suspension. It wasn’t red and fast. It was slow, old, and gold.

I felt guilty knowing that my uncle didn’t have a lot of spare money, and that he’d bought this car for me out of love. So in the following weeks, I made updates. I installed an Apple CarPlay Stereo and repaired wiring issues. I removed the front seats to ensure no French fry, coin, or little-old-lady earring remained. No more boring floor mats: I custom-cut bright green turf. And finally, with the toss of my pineapple bucket hat onto the passenger headrest, I lightheartedly christened the Camry "The Golden Beauty.”

That summer, as I drove around my friends who happily complied with Car Rule #1: Passengers must wear the pineapple bucket hat, I learned that a car can summon a joyous shared experience. I would laugh as Matthew inevitably reached over to change songs and initiated a debate over the virtues of Ariana Grande vs Lil Tjay, drowning out any stresses from our busy schedules. Other days, Jack and I would load the car with our mountain bikes and escape to explore trails. We joked about how, when our engineering teacher let us use CAD to be creative, I designed user-friendly chopsticks and he built a better grip for his hockey stick. We also opened up about struggles with Miss Rainer, our disorganized math teacher who constantly made us worry that we were missing an assignment or quiz. Never before had I discussed with a friend strategies for managing the demands of schoolwork. The car even encouraged a whole new dynamic with my brother James. We started to bond without our parents engaging in our conversations. Impromptu excursions to Donna’s Donuts or DQ left us arguing less, and his teasing lost its edge. That summer I grew to appreciate the privilege of driving beyond 0-60 stats or flashy exteriors. At last, I felt fully thankful for my uncle’s most generous gift.

As Matthew and I stopped by Haggetts Pond one summer evening, the golden hue of the sunset washed through the cabin and left us quiet. It occurred to me that the seclusion of a cabin lends itself to developing communication and friendship. Temporarily withdrawing from the outside fosters growth inside. While I will continue to search for my dream project car and to appreciate the mechanics of a well-built vehicle, my gratitude to the Golden Beauty will persist as a reminder of all that is truly important.