My definition of a "nice car" probably does not match yours

This is my current set of wheels

The standards I have for personal vehicles are low, having been shaped by the fact that I am Bob Tennant's son.

When I was growing up, my dad owned a succession of cars that could generously be described as "economical." All of them could get you from Point A to Point B, more or less, but there was no guarantee you would get there in one piece.

I remember one car with a passenger door that would randomly open when you made a right turn. More than once my dad had to reach over and grab my arm so I wouldn't tumble out into the intersection at 25 MPH.

There were floorboards so rusted through you could see the pavement passing by underneath your feet, and a van with a gas tank that once broke off and dragged along the ground for two miles as we drove home. I remember thinking the sparks it created as it scraped along the road were probably more than enough to ignite whatever gas was in there.

You shouldn't have to worry about your vehicle going up in flames when you're 8 years old.

I remember the old man owning one or maybe two decent cars total when I was growing up. The rest were already on their last legs the day he brought them home.

Thus it was no surprise that my own first car was a semi-dependable 1979 yellow Chevy Chevette, or that my subsequent upgrade was a seemingly rubber band-powered Dodge Omni. Back then, I figured nice cars were reserved exclusively for the super rich.

All of this is to explain why, to this day, my idea of a luxury car isn't an Audi, a BMW or a Mercedes-Benz. It's any car with working turn signals and a monochrome center-console display screen.

You will understand, then, why the car I currently drive, a 2021 Honda Civic hatchback, is easily the sportiest and nicest vehicle I have ever owned.

I love that car, and I love driving it. I've never had a car about which I could say that. It has what I consider to be all the best "modern" features, many of which have probably been standard on new vehicles for a decade but few of which I've ever personally had.

Speaking of new cars, I should mention that I've never owned one. And my wife has owned exactly one: her beloved 1988 Beretta, which was eventually passed down to me before I drove it into the ground. We not only are not "nice car" people, we're not even "new car" people.

Terry drove a series of minivans in the 90s and 2000s largely because she often had four or five passengers (i.e., our kids) in tow. Now she drives a 2015 Honda CRV, which while enjoyable isn't on the level of my Civic.

That's why I'm looking forward to her getting her own "bells-and-whistles" car sometime in the next year or so. And by bells and whistles, I'm talking about things that excite us but probably not you: heated seats and/or steering wheel, touchscreen console display, sideview cameras, etc.

If I could afford to buy her a Rolls, I would. But her standards are about as low as mine, and having a dependable, top-of-the-line Honda or Toyota is pretty much the pinnacle for both of us.

On the plus side, we are exceedingly easy to please.

Is it strange that I don't care in the least about what car I drive?

I spend a lot of time on LinkedIn these days because I'm always interested in what's going on in my industry, what former co-workers are up to, and what's generally trending in the business world. One of my favorite things is when LinkedIn users conduct polls on particular questions or issues.

I almost always participate in these polls, not so much because I want to share my own opinion as I want to see what others think.

Recently, though, I came across a LinkedIn poll I had to skip over. The person asked, "If money was no object, what car would you buy?" The choices were Cadillac, Porsche, or Other.

I was looking for the fourth option, which would have been "I don't even begin to care."

It is common for people to talk about their "dream car." Do you know what my dream car is? One that will reliably get me where I want to go. The make and model, the color, the styling, the bells and whistles, etc. are of virtually no consequence to me.

I just don't care.

This becomes readily apparent when you look at the cars I've driven over the last 3 1/2 decades. They have ranged from a Chevy Chevette and a Dodge Omni early on to a couple of minivans and, in recent years, Honda sedans.

My last two cars have been a black Honda Accord and a black Honda Civic.

And I couldn't have been happier with them, though I honestly don't give them that much thought because...well, there are a lot of things that are way more important to me, I guess.

As a Father's Day present, Terry arranged to have my Civic detailed by Nathan's Automotive Detailing. We've used them before and they do an outstanding job.

My car was so clean inside and out that it made the huge dent in the right rear quarter panel and the various scratches on the exterior really stand out (Virtually all of these blemishes, by the way, have been caused by some combination of my kids, but we won't get into that.)

I feel like I should care about dents and scratches, but I just can't work up the energy to make any of it matter.

Now, the fact that it's mid-July and there won't be any hockey for another few months? That matters to me, and it's depressing.

We each have our priorities.

I got a new car so I stopped speeding

We probably need to address three things about today's headline:

(1) I didn't get a "new" car. I got a "new to me" car. A "pre-owned" car, as they call it nowadays. A "used" car, as they called it when I was growing up. It's a 2015 Honda Civic. It's a great car and about the newest car I've had in my life. So it's new but it's not. Are we clear on that?

(2) To say I've stopped speeding is to imply I don't speed at all, which isn't true. I go about 5 MPH over the speed limit in most instances. It's just that I used to go 10-15 MPH over with regularity. So while technically I still speed, I don't speed like I used to.

(3) The headline also implies that the reason I stopped speeding is because I got the car. And while that's true, it's not the only reason. Sure, I don't want to jeopardize my nice new-ish car, but I've also felt for a long time that I should slow down.

To that last point, speeding always felt good in that it got me places faster. But it also felt selfish in that it (statistically anyway) put others around me in danger. And as a supposed follower of Christian teachings, I'm supposed to submit myself to the law, and the law clearly states how fast I should be driving on a given road in a given situation.

And really, I should clarify that I've only been slowing my roll for a couple of weeks now, so it's not like this is a permanently established habit quite yet. But I intend it to be.

I find, for example, that my morning commute is far more peaceful when I just kind of go with the flow and don't immediately slide over into the left lane and jam on the gas pedal. This morning I was listening to Wagner ("Die Meistersinger," for those who care) and having a good old time in the second lane from the right, averaging about 65 MPH. I got to work maybe two minutes later than normal and it was fine.

Seriously, it was fine. I didn't feel like I was missing anything by not joining my old friends in the speed demon lane – a lane that, by the way, averages about 75 MPH on Interstate 90 westbound heading into Downtown Cleveland most weekday mornings.

I felt a lot more relaxed as I drove and a lot more relaxed when I got to work. Relaxed is good. I could use more relaxed.

A lot of this has been brought on by the fact that I'm teaching my daughter Melanie to drive. She's the fourth of my kids with whom we've gone through this process, and with every one there have been awkward conversations like this:

CHILD: Aren't you supposed to turn into the left lane when you make a left turn?

ME (sheepishly): Well...yeah.

CHILD: Then why did you go all the way out into the right lane?

ME: You'll do the same once you get your license.

Translation: I know what I did is wrong, but everyone does it and therefore it's OK.

Not my finest parenting moments.

So I figure setting the example for my children and for others is a better-late-than-never situation.

Anyway, if you're a chronic speeder like me, I suggest you give, you know, NOT speeding a try for a while. At first you'll be antsy. Just itching to swerve around that slow poke in front of you who has the nerve to do the actual speed limit. MOVE OVER, IDIOT!

But then after a while you'll be that idiot. Except you won't be an idiot. As long as you drive in the correct lane (leave the passing lane for those still addicted to velocity), you'll be the responsible driver.

And that's what we're all aiming for, right? Safe, smart, responsible, relaxed.

Especially relaxed. I'm telling you, relaxed is good.

Americans' strange obsession with their cars

I am not a Car Guy.

And by that I mean I am not interested in cars the way that many guys (and women) are really, really interested in cars. There are car magazines and car shows and car clubs where people talk about cars. Incessantly.

God bless them. Many of us have a borderline-unhealthy interest in something or other. For me it's hockey. And increasingly these days, classical music of the type written by now-dead people many centuries ago.

My interest in cars, though, only goes this far:

(1) Is there a car in the driveway I can take every day to get to work and run errands and ferry kids around as needed?

(2) Yes? OK, then is that car in serviceable condition? That is, does it reliably get you from one place to another in the way that any mechanical form of transport should be expected to?

(3) Yes? Fine. Does it need any repairs?

(4) No? Good, because my car maintenance skills extend only to checking/replenishing fluids and maintaining recommended tire pressures. Oh, and I can also replace air filters and burnt-out light bulbs. Beyond that, I'm lost.

If all of those conditions are met, I no longer think about my car. Or any car, for that matter.

A lot of people have a vision of what they call their "dream car." It's the vehicle they would die to have if money were no object.

I do not have a dream car. I never have. Well, actually, I guess you could say my "dream car" is one that runs and has a freshly vacuumed interior.

That's my vehicular fantasy right there.

I almost don't care what color my car is. I don't care what make or model it is. I do not define myself in any way by the car I drive.

That's not to criticize those who do. There's nothing particularly noble about my approach to cars. I'm just telling you, my interest in cars is intensely practical and nothing more.

Which I realize puts me in a distinct minority in the larger context of American society. Americans love their cars.

We all used to love American-made cars, specifically. Then the foreign automakers started putting factories in the U.S. and we figured, "Well, hey, there's a Honda plant in Marysville, Ohio. How bad could it be to buy a Honda?"

It's actually good to buy a Honda, by the way. That's what I drive, and the darn things last forever. They just keep going and going. My friend Bob Jones, who used to sell Hondas, turned me on to them. Kudos to Bob for that guidance.

There, I've just typed/said more about cars in the space of two minutes than I probably have in the last six months combined. I'm now going to stop thinking about cars again, beginning....

Now.