Imagine you own a car. Although it’s not the best car out there, you love it to pieces. Although it always seems to have maintenance problems, you wouldn’t change a thing. Although it’s as old as you are, you wouldn’t ever think of getting a different one.

That was my situation with my first car, Sid.

My sister named him Sid when she drove him in high school. Now, almost 7 years later, the name has stuck. He was not “my car.” He was always Sid.

That all changed Wednesday, Nov. 26 at about 6 am.

I was about to leave for work that morning when I entered the garage. The door was open so I could see out onto my driveway.

My car, which had been parked in the driveway, was not there.

My first thought was that it had been stolen. Surely not, though, right?

Long story short: my first instinct was true. Robbers had ran up my driveway and taken my car before I went to work.

I yelled. I cried. I could hardly breathe.

I did not understand how, in my safe, suburban neighbourhood, my 16-year-old car would be stolen. Especially in a field of new Toyotas and Nissans.

Flash forward to now: Yes, I am about to turn 17 and my parents drive me to school. My parents pick me up from school.

When my car was first stolen, the thought of my parents driving me everywhere was horrifying.

Yet just days later, I have found myself reconnecting with them every morning on the way to school and every afternoon on the way home.

——

When I first got my license many months ago, I skyrocketed towards a new level of independence and lost crucial time to talk to my parents. For a few months, I lacked the relationship with my parents I had had before.

Spending Thanksgiving break contemplating this change in my life and reconnecting with my parents was crucial to my current happiness.

It’s almost as if this came as a blessing to let me reestablish a relationship with them. In a weird way, I’m thankful for this.

When my car was stolen, as cliche as it sounds, I realized what I was truly thankful for: my family. They’ve helped me through it all. Cars and other things would come and go, but my family will always be there for me in tough times for comfort, love and, in this case, transportation.

Besides, my car was found a week later. Abandoned, vandalized and ripped apart, but it still drives.

As I begin driving again, I am making sure to continue to spend quality time with my parents on a daily basis. It’s the least I can do for all they’ve done for me.