In my family, washing the car isn’t just about getting dirt off. It’s not only about making chrome sparkle and the glass shine. 

It goes much deeper. 

Growing up, every time my parents got a new car (almost always used), the first thing we would do is wash and wax it. 

That first wash and wax was a way of claiming the car, saying, “This is mine, and I’m going to take care of it from now on.” 

When I got my first car, the first thing we did was, of course, wash and wax it. 

We did it in my parent’s driveway, the plastic five-gallon bucket filled with soapy water and decades old sponges. As the sun shone down, we had to work fast for fear of the soap drying before being rinsed away to seep into the nearby lawn. 

When everything was good and dry – maybe even a day or two later – we’d wax it. I can still smell the scent of the orange bottle “Nu-Finish” wax we poured onto old rags and rubbed Karate Kid-style in small circles on every painted surface. 

It was a liquid wax, so you had to wait for it to dry before you could go back with a clean rag – often cut up bath and hand towels that had outlived their usefulness.

You knew it was ready when the wax turned foggy and frosty, with no shine left. You could test it with your finger. If it wiped away completely, it was ready to be removed. 

I have no idea how long it all took. Probably an hour or two. But it was usually a family affair, all of us putting in the elbow grease to welcome a new vehicle into the family. 

It’s a lot of effort, and the wet days in Washington don’t always leave a window for that act of claiming to occur. But even as he’s gotten older, my dad has found a way to still make sure it happens. 

He takes us to his favorite carwash, pulls out his credit card, and pays for a wash and wax. 

Every time. For every one of us. 

Me. 

My sister. 

My nephews and niece. 

We don’t buy cars too often, so it’s not a major expense. But in many ways it’s a rite of passage. 

It’s dad’s way of taking care of us. Of honoring the car and maybe asking it to keep us safe. Plus, it’s his way of reminding us that stewardship matters. 

Wash and wax your car. 

Get oil changes. 

Pay for regular tune ups. 

Fix things when they go wrong. 

Do all that and your car will last – and serve you – for a long time. 

He’s right.

Just this last spring, we retired a car that had been in our family for well over 20 years. 

A 1996 Toyota Camry. My parents bought it for my mom, used, when she was still teaching. After she retired, she kept driving it for years, toting grandkids to soccer or going to Bible study. 

But as the years went by, my dad encouraged her to get a new car. So she did. A Subaru Outback with safety features that weren’t even a dream back in the 90s.  

And that’s when we got the good ole Camry.

We were living in Hawaii, and one of our two cars was no longer drivable anymore. Mom and dad paid the shipping, and the Camry took a voyage on the high seas to get to us. 

A week of waves meant that when we picked up it, the car definitely needed a wash and wax. It got one. And honestly, it probably should have gotten one more often than it did while in our care. 

Without a garage, the salt air and Hawaiian sun did a number on its beige paint. But that thing kept running and running. When we moved back to Washington, it came with us. And we drove it a few more years until it was obvious it had earned its final rest. 

As a flatbed trailer took it away, I got a bit choked up. 

Sure, it’s just a car, but it had been a fixture in our family for so long that it was weird to see it hauled away by someone I wasn’t related to. 

Was it that very first family wash and wax that made the Camry last for so long? Of course not. But I can’t help but believe that its initiation, which started with soapy hands and waxy rags, made a difference. 

My husband and I have had our current car for almost three years. We bought it used. And of course, the first thing my dad wanted to do when we showed it to him was treat us to a wash and wax. 

We let him. 

Today, the sun is shining – a rare treat in Washington in winter. I texted my parents to see if they wanted to go for a walk. They did. So I drove over, my car dusty from weeks of rain and the lack of a garage at our rental house. 

When my dad walked outside, he took one look at my car and said, “We should wash that and get the ceramic wax on it today.” 

“Sure dad,” I said. 

So after our walk, we did. And even though I’m 45 and have been married for over 18 years, I let my dad pay.

I know for him it’s a small way of taking care of me. Of showing me that he loves me and reminding me that how you take care of things matters.