The eldest of the Princesses has gotten her driving learner’s permit, and with it the desire to have her own car. It ain’t gonna happen. It hasn’t with the previous six, and I see no reason to change now. I know, I’m an ogre, but to me being a parent is not about giving them everything they want, but about teaching them to earn what they need. We do the car thing a bit different.

I’ve made a deal with all of them that if they want a car, we will buy it together, and it will stay in my name for insurance purposes. It’s cheaper that way, and I have control when they cry, “but it’s my car!” The hitch to this is that the car cannot cost over $1,500.

You don't get much car for that amount of money, and what you do get needs lots of work, and that is where the fun begins. We will rebuild the car together, and when they turn 18, if they can afford the insurance, it is theirs.

Besides the obvious reduction in expense of providing a child with a car, we will be able to spend hours working together on “their” car. The work will build a bond for us that can’t be broken. They will learn how a car works from the wheels up. They will also learn the value of work, of earning their car, not having it given to them, and when it’s done, they will be able to look at the shiny paint, hear the smooth running engine, and say, “I did that.

There are added bonuses for us parents. The teenager, having invested much of their money, time, sweat, tears and blood into the project, is more likely to take care of the car since they know they will be required to fix anything that breaks. They will also be much less likely to succumb to some teen boy saying, “Give me the keys; let’s see what this thing can do.” It is a good plan, and has worked well in the past, but it is not without its drawbacks.

The latest daughter to enter into this contract has decided that she must have an old style VW Bug. First off, they are not easy to find, and usually cost more than $1,500, which is not negotiable, so there is a lot of shopping to do. I think I’ve found one, maybe two, now all we need is the money.

In the meantime, I have a problem. I love Volkswagens. I have so many fond memories attached to them, and with them, that I am going to have a tough time letting her have this car.

My first car was not a VW, far from it. Mine was a muscle car as were subsequent vehicles while I lived under my folks’ roof. Once I was on my own, a car needed to be more practical, and less of a toy. I still loved working on them, but I wanted them to last, and with having to provide my own room and board, cheap transportation became attractive. In the late 60s, VWs were the counter culture vehicle, and chicks dug them. They became the perfect choice for me, cheap and cool.

I could write a book about my adventures with Volkswagens, which is not a bad idea. Of the more than 10 I’ve owned, along with their big brothers the Porsches, I have had a long love affair with German, air-cooled, iron. With the Princesses throwing their hats into the VW ring, there are deep stirrings in me. As I type this, I can almost smell them, hear the noise of the mechanical valves clattering, and feel my feet freezing in winter, and sweat running off me in summer … fun stuff.

“Yes dear, we will look into getting you a VW, and yes, you can paint it like Herbie, and yes, it will be your car,” are the words spoken, but my thoughts are more sinister. It is going to be fun having a VW in MY garage, using MY tools and MY know-how on whose Bug? Yeah, this is going to be fun.

David Wilson Atwood is a local writer whose human-interest columns offer a unique perspective. He may be contacted, and his other works viewed, at www.starchasers.us, or david@starchasers.us.