"The car is totaled." The estimate for repair was more than it was worth. The market value dwindles with time, but the real value had grown richer.
Our son had taken one of his many African friends (this man helped him with French translations) for a driving lesson, against his better judgment, but because he is a generous friend who cares. Things had gone well, once they found a suitable place to practice (not the State Farm parking lot where we taught our sons to drive years ago). In the last few minutes, though, the friend backed into a concrete post, deeply folding the rear bumper and the trunk lid. No one was injured.
This car had been my father's car. Seven years ago, he moved into a nursing home here in Columbia after my mother died. His car became our son's car. Despite his Alzheimer's disease, my father knew it was serving others.
My father kept possessions in perspective. When I, as a teen, kept driving the family car with a red engine light on, I caused $500 in engine damage to our only car ($3,700 in today's dollars). My father was understanding. I, his son, was what mattered most.
So, this parking lot lesson is an apt ending for the car. It died in service to a friend in need who hailed from another culture, as an act of generosity and service. I think my father would be pleased. Totally.