Open letter to the 1998 Ford Contour sitting in my driveway

Dear car,
Dad cleaned you, posted you on craigslist, then fell in love with you again because you were so clean. Someone wanted to buy you, but Dad turned down the money just to be with you. You are very special to him, and you are a sentimental part of the family, but I have to tell you how I feel about your place here.
You have competition. The Van goes on long trips, the Sonata goes on errands, and the new BMW goes to church and other fancy places. You sit in the driveway, often stubbornly blocking the other cars, and you rust.
You have to acknowledge this. You do have endearing qualities, but you need to be aware of your character when compared to the other cars. I am not trying to hurt you, I just want to prevent future heartbreak by blurting out the truth in advance.
You are valued by Dad because of the cat-like purr you sing when he drives you. You have been his loyal companion through the years, never breaking down completely, even in harsh conditions. You cooperate when Mom drives, but in all honesty we both know that you work better with Dad. I know that you'd rather not talk about our recent drives together, but I have to tell, or else we'll never get better.
I'm not used to a stick shift like you. Multitasking, watching the road, the rpm's, and the spedometer, while feeling the clutch and the right gear, does not come naturally to me. I apologize for the times when I drove you with the parking brake on. And the times when I killed your engine (not on purpose). And I apologize for the embarassment I caused you when the light turned green and my skills failed to get you up that little bump before the intersection. If you meet the cars that were waiting behind us, it would be o.k. if you blamed it on me.
While I recognize that I'm often at fault, you aren't exactly helpful. The rusty polka-dots on your roof are embarassing, your rusty door hinges sound like a dying duck when opened too far, and your non-aerodynamic figure is old fashioned.Even though black is a timeless color, it doesn't hide rust well. On the inside, your left turn blinker signal clicks unnaturally fast, and reminds me of a cartoon time-bomb. The little section of your ceiling that has the light and sunglasses holder is falling out. Your suspension might be described as non-existent. Your gas mileage might be average if you were drafting a semi (which Dad did, but with the Van, sorry to break it to you).
Your future at our house is not over, however! It is impossible not to overhear David as he begs Dad to surrender you into his service. Hauling around unicycles, ramps, and plywood is not what you are used to, but you will come to enjoy it in time. David hasn't even been through driver's ed yet, so you'll get to spend more time with Dad before you're handed down.
Wishing you the brightest future possible, Kaitlin