Carpooling is an attitude

Growing up, in order to use a paper towel or get a ride somewhere, you needed to be a lawyer with a convincing argument. My parents focused on providing the essentials for their brood of nine children: shelter, food and love.

"Rides" was not on the list. They were as valuable as paper towels, and not to be wasted.

As a 16-year-old, I signed up for an adult education course at the University of Delaware, 13 miles away in Newark, Del. In Delaware in 1973, Wilmington to Newark was a long way and required a toll of either 10 or 15 cents.

You had to drive on back roads for a bit longer if you took the first exit on the new interstate, but you saved a nickel – when it meant something.

So did a car. Every person over age 16 was not expected to have a car. There were still one-car families. With a hoard of drivers, we had two cars, but I was only allowed to use it for the first class, when my mother instructed me to find a carpool.

In those days, we didn't have the Internet. I found a match the old-fashioned way. I asked if anyone was coming from Wilmington. Two guys, who must have been 20-something, offered me a ride.

Today, they might not have passed a CORI check. Most mothers wouldn't encourage their shapely teenage daughter to get into a car with two unknown men. My mother was a trusting soul. I really wanted to take the class. Even though it was awkward, I did what my mother said. I think I paid the tolls.

My mother created a life-long attitude in me towards carpooling. It doesn't hurt. Ask and you shall receive. You will save money and resources. Strangers can be trusted. Carpool partners are lurking all around.

Born in 1919 and 1921, my parents grew up in the Great Depression. They knew how to stretch a dollar or a nickel. My mother remembers frantically scouring their apartment in Chicago for seven cents so her mother, a physician, could ride the trolley downtown to go to work.

My father recalls saving for a year for $2 to buy a new tire for his bike. When he prepared to buy the tire, his family needed the cash. He started to save again, and after two years, bought the tire and his freedom on a bike.

Children today don't have the experience of delayed gratification. They don't understand that things are not the essence of life. At the end of my mother's long life, I gave her a bumper sticker, "The best things in life are not things," a phrase she lived by, and displayed on her car.

Thanks, Mom and Dad.