Dude...is that yours?

(Originally written June 2011)

As my boss and I pulled to a stop at a major intersection, a decade-old Nissan Quest that was shedding its clear coat rolled past, no doubt full of soccer balls, stale fries and untold scars of neglect. I let out a sigh that was equal parts disgust and self-righteous pity.


"Dude, don't ever let me get one of those. I mean really, like smack me in the face if I do."


I had an as-yet unspoken fear that though my wife and I had managed to get through the first three years of my son's life without completely sacrificing our dignity or capacity for rational adult decisions, this lucidity would end with the addition of more children and I would sacrifice the last vestige of my once intact masculinity and buy...or worse yet, drive and be seen in...a minivan.


"Don't worry man, you never will."


I prayed my boss knew me better that I knew myself. I was a car guy, darn it. None of these underpowered, mile-long windshield touting, body-rolling, spit-up stained-memorials to any identity outside of parenting for me. Anything bigger than a minivan was almost necessarily cooler (the certain rebellious subculture and probably-don't-want-to-mess-with-that-guy feelings evoked by a full size Chevy van with tinted windows, for example), and anything smaller meant you still hadn't gone full bore soccer mom. However, as is the case with so many things, the experience of being not just a parent, but being dear friends with other new parents, had a profound impact on the way I viewed what's parked in my driveway and what that says about me.


The change began, I think, when I started reading friends' or friends-of-friends' blogs or facebook posts about the experience of parenting, entries which periodically ended with open-ended questions. Truthfully it was more in the subsequent comments and free offerings of insight and wisdom from people in response to these posts. They started innocently enough, but after several back and forth responses with progressively waning degrees of civility, it became clear that the issue being discussed was no longer the initial question of a no-cry sleep solution, but the tenability of the responses, and by implication, the very parental competency of the contributors. It went from being about the kids to being about them.


If you listen carefully, you'll hear it every day. Parents bragging about their kids...but it's not really about their kids. How THEIR kid is going to play sports, behave in public, how color-coordinated they'll be (whether they like it or not!), the types of "creations" that will be hung on the fridge vs. those that won't...the list goes on and on. It's an understandable trap to fall into, and by no means am I saying that I'm exempt. You pour so much of your self, of emotions so deep and fatigue so incapacitating you didn't believe it existed, into this blob...well darn it, they'd better realize whose name it is they wear on the back of their jersey, and who carried all their...stuff in their Apple Tart Cake Cosmopolitan Carryall from Petunia Pickle Bottom. $350 for a diaper bag? Hey, how else are your kids going to become the kind of people that value QUALITY?


Ok, just because you're a parent doesn't mean that's ALL you are. And the healthiest parents, much like the healthiest couples, are probably those who maintain a social life/hobbies and interests outside of being Mom or Dad. But there's an alarming amount of significant decisions being made for kids that aren't being made for the kids. And that's not parenting...that's immature superficiality. And faced with some cold hard facts about modes of transportation, I was forced to recognize that my stigma of minivans fell under this second category.


1. Many people hate minivans, but they need the space, so they buy SUV's (but not full-size like the Suburban, because that's just ugly and for heaven's sakes, we want the other parents to know we care about the ENVIRONMENT!) So they buy the mid-size SUV (Japanese, preferrably, domestics are...you know, so 80's...) that gets worse gas mileage than a Suburban and require your third row occupants to be (a) very small children, but not so small that they require actual assistance to get buckled in, or (b) contortionist Asian midgets, like that dude from Oceans 32.


2. The combination of fuel economy, versatile space, comfort, blistering array of infotainment/safety options, cost of maintenance and sticker price simply cannot be matched by another vehicle. If you say it can, you have not ridden in the 3rd row of your stylish friend's MDX.


The proverbial nail in the coffin was when I had to pick my sister and her family up from the airport. I had J. with me, so it meant four boys in car seats, plus 3 adults and all their luggage. I was forced to recognize on that trip that these objects of such scorn are wonderfully and undeniably practical creations. With the majority of our friends now having kids, going anywhere means having a serviceable 3rd row or taking two vehicles. When we have friends move we can take the second and third rows out and fit an incredible amount of stuff, and it's all out of the elements. We can (and have) take 6 adults in comfort to and from singing gigs. The list goes on and on.


I am hardly an expert on much, let alone parenting. My wife and I have just begun to scratch the surface of this wonderful experience, but from all I can gather, it is, as much as anything else, the ultimate lesson in getting over yourself. IT'S NOT ABOUT YOU. It is a freeing and simultaneously daunting realization. I'm not saying you shouldn't buy your kids nice stuff, or drive sweet cars. Lord knows if I was making 6 figures I might be driving something different. But for where we are in life right now, the minivan just made too much sense. And I had to realize I needed to get over myself and do some parenting.