In the Driver’s Seat

– By Donny Nordlicht –

I have a problem. My problem even extends to my family, so much so that my father has been blacklisted at every car dealer within a thirty-minute radius of Rye. My problem is that I am obsessed with cars.

In most families, automotive enthusiasm seems to have some genetic link. A parent imparts to their child their passion for engineering, for style, for driving. But for me, it wasn't like that. My dad has no interest in cars, other than if they can go from Point A to Point B. I may have the 'car gene’, but it's a mutation. It's as if somehow motor oil and gasoline got mixed in with my DNA.

For the first year and a half of my life, my family lived on the Upper West Side of Manhattan, which turned out to be nothing short of paradise for little me. My mother tells stories of how she would take me for walks in my stroller to put me to sleep. But it never worked. I was too interested in the hubcaps we passed by. Before I could walk, I attempted to launch myself out of the stroller at every car of interest to me.

The same thing happened once we moved up to Rye. In an attempt to get me down for my afternoon nap, my mother found herself driving more and more of the roads around Rye. But I was not to be deterred by my passion; I always had my nose pressed up against the window watching the cars go by and rarely fell asleep.

As I got older, I began finding my own way to bond with my father. Some play ball, some solve puzzles, some see the sights. I, on the other hand, test drove. Well, not me personally, as I hadn't even reached double-digits at that point. My long-suffering father drove and talked the dealer into thinking we might actually buy, and I played. Climbing in and out of all the different models in the showroom, trying every switch and button, and feeling the ride of one car versus another once we were out on the road.

Never once did we buy a car, and to this day there are dealerships my father avoids even if we actually are shopping for a new car.

To my dad’s great relief, I also enjoyed going to the auto show at the Javits Center, where they encourage people to just look. We would go every year, father and son, and he would follow me, holding bags full of brochures on the latest models, as I sat in every car on the show floor.

After five years of going to the New York Show, I decided it was time to expand my automotive horizons. As a Hanukkah gift, my father gave me a trip to Detroit. In January… While the Midwest in mid-winter may not be a dream trip to most, it was for me. NAIAS – The North American International Auto Show NAIAS) is the flagship auto show.

My auto problem has actually extended beyond my family. When any of our neighbors or friends is in the market for a new car, I have always caught wind of it. Even as a young child, I would sit down with them and hear what they were looking for and then tell them exactly what car they would buy, to which I would always get the same response: buying a car was a big decision that grown-ups made. However, only once has someone not gotten the car I suggested.

As I've gotten older, my passion for automobiles has only intensified. I still go test-driving, although, thanks to wise career choices on my part, I now test drive cars lent to the press from the manufacturers and no longer bother dealers. And instead of peering from my car seat, I sit here writing this on the train into the city, staring out the window at I-95 watching all the cars go by, wishing that instead of riding I were driving.

Donny Nordlicht, a RHS graduate, graduated last month from Bard College with a degree in Sociology. He currently drives a 2008 Mazda Mazdaspeed3. In future columns he’ll offer car buying advice geared to women, men, parents, adult children with senior parents and more.