When You Want a Wagon, Nothing Else--Even a Honda--Will Do

Certainly I was young when I made my decision--in my early 20s. But it seemed so inevitable, so right. I wanted stability, consistency and a certain level of, well, performance. And that’s what I got, for 15 glorious years. But then my needs changed. New people came into my life, and I wanted the room and the freedom to accommodate them. But I was told that wasn’t possible. Trust was betrayed. I was forced to consider abandoning Hondas for good.

I have always bought Hondas. I have only bought Hondas. I even persuaded my husband to buy Hondas. We are a two-Honda family. But we are also a two-dog, soon-to-be two-child family, and those Civics just won’t cut it anymore. We need a wagon. And for years, Honda had a great Civic wagon. And that’s what I wanted until I discovered that, in the flush of the SUV boom, the company abandoned its wagon two years ago in favor of the jeep-like CRV.

I don’t want a jeep-like CRV.

So now I am back at square one, flipping through Consumer Reports, asking my friends for advice, calling up Web sites, cruising the showrooms, giving my phone number to strange salesmen.

It makes me feel so cheap.

But then, loyalty isn’t considered the virtue it once was. Not even brand loyalty, once the cornerstone of the American marketplace. How can it be when companies that were once to-the-death rivals are now marriage partners? So why should I mourn?

Because loyalty is easier, that’s why. It means you don’t have to make 7,000 trips to Cerritos or send away for 25 C.R. printouts. It limits your exposure to sales personnel, which has been proved to increase longevity.

And change, I’ve heard, is difficult, as I found on a recent trip to the L.A. auto show. There I was--with my husband and child--sliding in and out of front seats, back seats, wagon wells (with, I might add, the feline grace that is the hallmark of the third trimester).

It was a bacchanal of cars, an orgy of cars, a swinging-singles tea dance of cars. There we all were, having ditched our current models in some dive of a parking lot while we flirted and romped with the new models, basking in the luster of the undinged, unblemished exteriors, drunk on the perfume of the youthful interiors.

My husband and I tried to limit our car-hopping promiscuity (we had our young son to consider after all) and looked only at wagons--the Taurus, the Volvos, the Saturns, the VW Passat. This last was the most alluring, and I sat in the driver seat allowing myself to imagine the once-unimaginable: Living with a completely different car.

Then, out of the corner of my eye, I saw it. That oh-so-familiar logo. There, within 0-to-30 accelerating distance were the new Hondas. Shining like a lamp in a familiar window, in the colors that I loved, the lines I knew so well. For a moment, I faltered. Maybe we didn’t need a wagon. Maybe we could live with, say, a four-door Accord.

Then from the Passat’s wagon well came the sound of my son’s laughter as he rolled and crawled and flipped himself into the back seat. And I knew where my real loyalty lay.

Sorry, Honda. A kid needs a wagon.

Mary McNamara can be reached by e-mail at mary.mcnamara@latimes.com.