While cleaning the car one Saturday afternoon, my son, who’s just seven, asked a question that took me by surprise. As I was vacuuming out the floor mats, he peered into the driveway and then back at me, his face filled with genuine curiosity, and said, “Why don’t we just take the secret car Daddy drives?”
At first, I thought I hadn’t heard him correctly. The “secret car”? What was he talking about? He must have seen something I didn’t notice, or maybe it was just one of those random childhood observations. So I asked him to explain, and that’s when I realized what he meant.
You see, over the years, my husband and I have always made a point to keep certain aspects of our lives a bit mysterious for our kids. It’s not that we’re hiding anything major, but like most parents, we have our own routines and, let’s say, personal preferences that don’t always involve our children. One of those things was my husband’s “secret car.” It’s not a luxury sports car or anything flashy, but rather, an old classic car that he’s been restoring over the past few years. It doesn’t come out very often—usually only when it’s a special occasion or when he’s in the mood to take it for a spin.
This car is one of those things that’s become a bit of a legend in our family. To my son, it’s a mysterious vehicle—hidden in the garage, tucked away under a dusty cover, and rarely seen by his young eyes. My husband has always kept it that way, not out of any need for secrecy, but because it’s something he’s deeply invested in. It’s his project, his pride and joy. But to a child’s mind, it had become a symbol of something special, something just out of reach, hence the “secret car.”
I tried to explain to him that the car was special for Daddy and needed to be taken care of in a way that was different from the cars we use every day. It’s an old car, and while it’s fun to drive, it requires a lot of attention and maintenance. But I could see in his eyes that he wasn’t really concerned with the details of oil changes or vintage parts. What he really wanted to know was why we couldn’t just drive it around whenever we felt like it.
I smiled and tried to explain that sometimes, things are special because they’re rare. “You wouldn’t want to eat your favorite ice cream every single day, would you?” I asked, hoping the analogy would make sense. He nodded slowly, his expression thoughtful.
It was a sweet moment—one of those instances where I realized that our kids see the world in a way that’s full of wonder, curiosity, and innocence. For him, that “secret car” wasn’t just a dusty object in the garage; it was a mystery that he wanted to solve, a puzzle he wanted to piece together.
By the time we finished cleaning the car, my son had moved on to something else, as kids do. But the question lingered in my mind: “Why don’t we just take the secret car Daddy drives?” It was a reminder that, in our everyday routines, there are little pieces of wonder and magic that we might take for granted, but to our children, they are mysteries waiting to be uncovered.
