“Is that a Miata?” My mom greeted the dark blue Mazda MX-5 with the Autoexe kit when I surprised her at her home, with the intention of taking her for a quick drive around the block. It was a question that was so innocently asked but caused me the utmost of confusion.
You see, my mom was never what you would call a ‘car person.’ Sure, in her younger days, she drove a small-body, 16-valve Toyota Corolla with a manual transmission, but for her cars were just not objects of interest. For my mom, these machines were mere modes of transportation, more convenient than the jeeps and buses of her childhood.
So how did my mom, who has never really noticed when a car company drops off a new demo unit for me to test, identify this (correctly) as a Miata? Well, that’s because of my father.
You see, unlike my mom, my dad was certifiably car-obsessed. Between mountains of Car and Driver and old What Car? magazines and a veritable treasure trove of various car parts, he was the type to watch old-school episodes of Top Gear on repeat, which had been hastily recorded on definitely less-than HD Betamax tapes (if you are old enough to know what that is, it’s time to take your BP meds). He would, to my mom’s bewilderment, wake up at the wee hours of the weekend just to watch the Indianapolis 500 or a live broadcast of an F1 race.
Mom really didn’t get it, which resulted in my dad pouring his knowledge and passion for cars into me, his eldest son. Many a night was spent listening to him talk about his plans for his cars, and how he was excited to teach me how to drive (even if I was only 13 at the time). He espoused in me how special cars could be, and imparted to me the passion that currently drives me as a car enthusiast.
This was all just plans, however, as he figured in a fatal car accident in the year 2000. It was sudden, it was final, and we had a lot of wounds that would take many decades to heal from. But that brings me to how my mother knew, almost on sight, what a Miata was.
When my father died, he had a note in his wallet. That note had the names and numbers of three individuals on it. Curious, we tried calling the numbers, only to find out that these were numbers of sellers who were looking to pass on their first-generation ’90s Mazda Miatas, also known as the NA generation (the ones with the pop-up headlights). This revelation shocked me, because I didn’t even know my dad was in the market for a sports car, but my mother had immediately known what it meant.
Mom told me that the one time she had ever mentioned to my dad that a car was cute was when a Mazda Miata was driving beside them along McKinley Road. She had liked how it looked like it was smiling, and how it was so cool that it was a convertible.
My dad died nine days before their 15th wedding anniversary. The Miata was supposed to be a milestone anniversary gift to my mother; my dad’s way of sharing his love of cars with the love of his life, interrupted only by his untimely passing.
This is how my mom knew what car I had come home to surprise her with. Even 25 years after his death, the Miata is a car that represents my father’s unrequited promise; a car that has so steadfastly remained faithful to its roots, that a non-car person can instantly identify it as a Miata, even three generations on.
Funny enough, my mom had never ridden one. So it was a bit of an emotional moment as she slipped into the passenger seat. In one quick motion, I dropped the soft-top on the MX-5 the same way the first-generation Miata did, with a manual latch and a physical push to lock it in place.
As I pushed the button to start the 2.0-liter Skyactiv-G engine, the MX-5 awoke with a snarl, all the more accentuated by the fact that we had the night sky above us and not a roof in the way to dampen the purr of the exhaust behind our heads. I backed the car out of the driveway, and as I shifted it into first, I looked at my mom who had the biggest smile on her face, and pulled away from the house.
Accelerating from first to third, my mom was grinning ear-to-ear as we took some corners at speed. She then turned to me worriedly, but I countered with, “don’t worry, we’re barely doing 40kph.” Satisfied, in a way a good mom would be that her lawyer-son was not breaking the speed limit, she commented that it did feel so much faster than the claimed 40kph on the speedometer.
This is where my dad’s influence came in. I explained to her that at its heart, the MX-5 is a true sports car. It was never about outright speed, it was about elevating the entire driving experience. The sensations, including the wind in your hair, make you come to the realization that driving a car is much more than just how fast you get to a destination, it is about what it feels to be truly in control.
From the lightness of the chassis to how tuned the suspension is in conjunction with the tires, everything in the MX-5 was designed to give you the purest form of driving possible. I think I lost her when I started waxing lyrical about Jinba Ittai, or Mazda’s philosophy of “horse and rider as one,” defining the relationship between the driver and his vehicle, but I am sure she got the gist of it.
It brought me joy to see my mom enjoy being in the MX-5. I felt, for the first time, that this was a car that she had an unseen connection to, a promise that remained unfulfilled until this very experience 25 years later.
To have come full circle and have an experience similar to what could have been with that first-generation Miata, truly shows that Mazda has succeeded in preserving the MX-5’s soul: a lightweight, affordable sports car with an almost obsessive focus on distilling driving into its primary components. It has been this way for more than 35 years, and with the advent of electrification, we can only hope that Mazda keeps the MX-5 as it is—a true driver’s car that can evoke emotion even in those not normally into cars.
Arriving at our dinner venue, my mom did the customary look-back at the blue MX-5 as we walked away, and she thanked me for dropping by with the car and giving her a quick ride. Just as I thought everything went swimmingly, in typical mom fashion she added, “it really is a bit small, no?” Laughing, I just agreed, and we went to dinner.
Entering the restaurant, I saw my mother steal a quick glance back at the parking lot, and it made me wonder, maybe one shouldn’t just be collecting names in wallets. Maybe it’s time to actually make the call, and buy a Miata.
