There are many events that symbolize the ending of a student’s college career. Getting flush letters, buying a cap and gown, ordering but forgetting to send graduation announcements, having a graduation party, etc.

But one event makes the statement “I’m graduating. I want to be an adult,” louder and clearer than any other. That event is buying a new car.

Two weeks ago I made the landmark decision to buy a new car. Because I wasn’t sure if my current mode of transportation would make it to my job near Toronto, Ontario next year, I decided to buy a more reliable vehicle. After several days of shopping with my dad, I purchased a 1991 Pontiac Grand Prix. It’s a nice car, and we got it for a good price, but it’s just not the same as the “Smurf.”

My 1985 Ford Ranger and I were united my freshman year at ISU. I had always wanted a pick-up, and blue was my favorite color, so I fell in love as soon as I saw the truck for the first time. A couple of days later, a friend christened it the Smurf, which it has been ever since. For over three years we’ve gone everywhere and done everything together.

No matter how unreliable our old-school wheels are, deciding to sell the high school or college car is a tough decision. These cars take a lot of abuse over the stressful college years. We curse at them when they die at intersections, we kick their tires when they won’t start after being jumped in the winter and we wish they wouldn’t make that clicka-clicka noise each time we drive them. But we could say we’re like strict parents — we just want our cars to live up to their potential, to be all they can be.

Our cars also encapsulate all the fun times we’ve had inside them. (Now, stop thinking THAT way.) Think of the places you’ve gone or the crazy things you’ve done in your car: driving in your underwear when it’s hot and your car doesn’t have air conditioning, or riding five across in the cab of a pick-up from Ames to Des Moines, for example.

Our cars may even have visible scars, like cigarette burns, dings on the door or bumper stickers that commemorate our times together.

These same cars have served as our identification over the years. How many times have people determined our whereabouts by spotting our car on the street? While most of our high school or college cars were purchased because they were cheap and had four wheels, our car becomes an emblem of our personality.

I stalled for two weeks after buying my new car, not wanting to give up the Smurf. I told my parents I didn’t want my new car in Ames for Veishea. You never know what kind of hooligans could come and vandalize a showy car like a white Grand Prix. I told them I would drive home to Des Moines the following week and trade the Smurf for my new car.

When I went home Wednesday to get the car, I felt a melancholy feeling steal into my heart. I couldn’t figure out what was bugging me; it was a beautiful day, no homework on the horizon and I was going out for mug night. But I felt sad for some reason. As I cleaned my stuff out of the Smurf before I came back to Ames, the feeling was magnified.

From the truck I removed old Rec center time slips, ATM receipts, a box of push pins, scotch tape, an ice scraper and my Burger King “Safety is no Accident” bike license plate. As I sat with the papers and junk clutched in my hands, I lay down on the seat of the cab and closed my eyes, thinking about the good times I had had with the Smurf. It was like I was leaving Erin the Kid in the Smurf and going back to Ames with Erin the Adult in my new car.

But I bucked up, got out of the truck and closed the door behind me. As I drove back to Ames in my new, clean car, listening to a tape in the tape deck, I decided that just because I had a new, more sensible and less fun vehicle didn’t mean I wasn’t a kid anymore.

It just meant I was a kid who wants to drive to Canada next year without her car dying halfway there. However, even though I succeeded in convincing myself that selling the Smurf and buying a new car was OK, there was one thing missing — a nickname. If you have any suggestions, let me know.

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Erin Walter is a senior in journalism and mass communication from Urbandale.