My dad bought a 1978 Pontiac Bonneville Brougham. He paid $7,000 - cash. Dad never understood car payments. Still doesn’t.
The Bonneville was luxury to us — plush red velour seats (that smell never left), electric windows!, AM radio (FM cost extra), and an 8-track.
The Bonneville sat gleaming in our driveway in central Ohio many nights that fall as the sun set over oaks with red and orange leaves. I remember the rally wheels and white walls like the back of my hand. Scrubbing those white walls clean took elbow grease and minimum two Brillo pads.
Dad was proud of that car. Then our Korean next door neighbor bought the same car. Same color. I remember Mr. Oh driving past our house the first time in his bourghony Bonneville, waving enthusiastically.
My dad may have waved. I don’t remember. But I remember when he went inside, he was seething. He couldn’t believe that the guy living next door had purchased the same car and color. It just wasn’t done; the driveway was a stage of sorts. To Dad, our car wasn’t special anymore.
Mr. Oh was always the kindest neighbor. He was polite, friendly, respectful, as I understand Korean culture to be now. I remember their house had unfamiliar odors — garlic, something sour and spicy, maybe fermented cabbage. At the time I probably called it “curry.” It wasn’t. And the family shoes were always lined up in rows on the shoe rack inside the front door.
Year later, those cars were long gone. But dad still rolled his eyes about the time the neighbor had showed up with the same car and color he had.
By that time, I was in my 40s. Living in Texas, we often drive to Dallas and Houston to enjoy Korean food, saunas, and culture in their large, vibrant communities.
Somewhere during that time - maybe over a bowl of tasty spicy beef soup or in the 160 degree Korean sauna - it hit me: In South Korea, buying the identical car and color as your neighbor wasn’t copying. It wasn’t rude or thoughtless. I think it was meant as a compliment.
I remember how Mr. Oh smiled at my dad and me as both our cars sat in the driveway - twins. My dad frowned and didn’t understand.
Two driveways. Two men. The same car.