My Minivan and Me

(If you are interested in a Mary Mom Update, please click here.)

I drive a mini van.  There.  I said it.

It's a 2003 Chevy Venture Minivan.  It's color is gold, but if you ask Chevrolet, they would tell you it is Sandstone.  It's kind of cool, really, for a minivan.  It has room enough to hold my family of 7, and a guest, as well as whatever else this family needs hauled.  In the 6 years since I have had it, it has never failed me.  Never.  And I drive its fluids dry on a habitual, regular basis.

Sometimes I get teased for having a minivan, which is kind of amusing, when I look at it like a grown up.  Unfortunately, this rarely happens--the part about me reacting with maturity.  All of my insecurities rise to the occasion, and I come away feeling embarrassed and inferior.  It's so pathetic.

But what the heck?  What's up with the negative stigma?  Is it because they are known to be bad cars?  No.  Is it because they are known to be unreliable.  Nope.  Is it because they are known to have poor fuel mileage?  Not even.  But, let's get real here.  I don't even have to ask the rhetorical why now, do I?  We all know why.  Because they're just not cool.

In Southern California, we are judged by our houses, our cars, and whether or not we get professional mani/pedis.  Especially when we're middle-aged.  It's assumed, that by the time we're in our forties or fifties, we should be more established.  With more to show for our success.  Does anyone ever show up to their High School Reunion in a minivan?

Oh, shoot.  I just realized that high school friends read my blog.  Great.  Now they know.  No, seriously.  Great.  Great!  I drive a minivan.  I drive a minivan, a minivan, a minivan.  I drive a minivan.

Look at me.  I'm working so hard to psych myself out, here.  Are there not bigger issues in the world?  Anyone read about the Horn of Africa lately?  When I measure what I have, compared to a 44 year-old woman in Somalia, I'm ashamed for feeling like I don't have enough.

The honest truth?  I love my minivan.

I bought it in 2004.  Just weeks before Lee was born.  It was in this van that we drove him home from the hospital, and it was in the van that, a year later, I packed up the kids and fled our rural Nebraska home, sans husband.  It was in this van that I drove the kids back, 6 weeks later, with hopes that the control, abuse, and betrayal would be in my husband's past, and that we could re-build our family.  And it was in this van that I drove the kids back out west, when we ultimately came back to California for good.  The van, and our dog Luke, along with a few other things that we brought with us, are the only things that link our life back then, to our life now.

I remember in the dark years, when I would drive from my morning/afternoon job to my afternoon/night job.  I would be so homesick for my kids.  I would close the driver side door after climbing into the driver's seat, and I would exhale.  I felt safe.  Everything about my life was so new and different back then, that something as simple as familiarity was understandably comforting.

My reliable and familiar old friend started showing signs of wear and neglect.  We dropped it off at the dealership Saturday morning for some loving.  $1,500 later, she's as good as new.  Well, not quite that good, but she's pretty darn good, and as painful as a $1,500 bill may be, it's a lot less than the price of a new car.

And as much as I like new things, I'm not quite ready to be done with the old girl quite yet.  I kind of need her still.  She's kind of like my night-night (my name for my blankie when I was little).  She offers me a lot of security.

But when that day comes, when I find myself driving something more cool, I give my word to the world,  or at least, to my fellow shallow Southern Californians.  I will never, ever look down on you for driving a minivan.  I will never, ever think that I am somehow transformed into someone better, because my car can pull a yacht.  I'll smile, give you a thumbs-up, and I'll gush about the beauty of your ride.  Because as a sister, I'll know you need to hear it.