Mostly out of amusement I responded, "Maybe we shouldn't use the power-locks either."

"Yeah, I thought about that," he replied in all seriousness. "The more it's used, the more likely it will break. Then I'd have to fix it."

"Oh, in that case, you shouldn't use the motor because you don't want to wear it out," I teased him. "After all, 'the more it's used ..."

Realizing the impracticality of his good intentions, he chuckled.

Had I known how entertaining this was going to be, we'd have gone down this road sooner and laughed even more.

Alasdair was a sophomore at East Chapel Hill High School when the school board redistricted. If he wanted to stay at his school, then it was unjustly on us to provide transportation. Understandably, he wanted to finish out where he began and where his friends were.

His limited ride options boiled down to the Chapel Hill Transit's Route T bus stop at Banks Drive.

To his credit, Alasdair rode the bus his entire junior year -- rain or shine, hot or cold; usually with his bulging backpack, often carrying his lacrosse equipment.

It was unquestionably inconvenient and outside the norm for a modern suburban high school student.

Yet Alasdair did not complain or whine about the situation. As a parent, I was impressed by his quiet resilience.

But now, he was a senior.

It was time to get a car.

This was an enlightening process. He demonstrated his superior automobile benchmark as his research went from BMW M3's to Cadillac SRX to Mercedes-Benz, C-class. In contrast, as a freshman in college, my first car was a used 1975 Chevy Vega with its aluminum block engine. Times have changed.

Still, being a "function over form" kind of a guy and keeping high school age driver statistics in mind, I suggested something more modest and safe: a Volvo 740 sedan. He decided on a Mercedes-Benz C36, AMG.

Some 5,200 were manufactured worldwide and only 444 were imported into the United States in 1995. Alasdair owns one.

His MB C36 AMG is mechanically splendid. It may also be the most immaculate moving vehicle in the Western Hemisphere -- there is not a speck of dust inside or a single raindrop spot on the outside. Funny, for the past 17 years, he had no concerns about the state of my/family car, i.e., what was in it, what was on it, etc.

Now, with his own car, things are different: I feel pressure, however subtle, to take off my shoes before entering it, lest it should stain his "C36 AMG" monogrammed carpet.

It's been an amazing turnabout.

Petroleum prices have become an important consideration since he's paying for gas: He rarely uses his superbly German engineered and designed air conditioning. So now, his younger sister and I have to enter the holy sanctuary barefooted and swelter in the heat.

Two cars back, we had an old black Volvo wagon ("The Oven") with broken A/C. Then, we had no choice. Now? Well, let's just say it's been a religious experience.

It gets better.

On a recent hot day, I was sitting in the passenger seat in my shorts. My son asked me -- politely -- not to let my thighs touch the seat in case they they damaged the pristine, shiny leather.

Additionally, whenever his C36 hits a rough patch of pavement, he exclaims, "Somebody ought to fix that!" as it stresses out his shocks and struts.

After getting the car he wanted, Alasdair now plans on buying a neighbor's old Honda parked in our cul-de-sac.

Why?

He wants to preserve his C36 AMG from use.

Evidently, the Mercedes-Benz I helped to buy, register and insure in my name (now showcased in the driveway) is no longer an automobile.

It has become a shrine.