It's not like it comes when you call it

That's some bratty 20-month-old kid standing next to Herkemer, my mother's '69 Chevrolet Brookwood station wagon, in December 1972. Mom had a '62 Impala before this that overlapped a little bit with my first days, but Herkemer is the first car I can remember her driving.

Mom named all of her cars. After Herkemer, the '77 Buick Estate Wagon she had was Osnoggle. Her Caprice Classic was Rosemary. Her '92 Accord was Camelia.

I tried it for a while, probably a little bit because a close friend had named his car. His last name is Dickerson, and his ultra-cool '69 Ford XL was the Dickmobile (DM in mixed company). My first car, a '77 Celica, was Ben. My '87 Taurus was Annabelle. I half-heartedly named my '88 Integra Liza, but I think by then I was largely disinterested in the idea, and that was my last car to have a name.

The only one that stuck was Ben, and my bud Charles and I still just say "Ben" whenever we have occasion to talk about my first car.

Maybe I'll have a fun car one day for sunny weekends, and feel compelled to name it. But I can't see naming my daily driver anymore.