The other day I came across a song that pretty much sums it all up: “It’s Hard to be Cool in a Minivan” by the Oakridge Boys. In retrospect, it’s pretty amazing that no one has told me about this song, as it came out in 2006 and all my friends know about my minivan hang-ups. Here is the first stanza and chorus:
Sittin’ at a red light, down around Sunset
A girl pulled up beside me in a candy-apple red Corvette
She pulled down her shades, gave me a wink
I gave her a little smile back
Then she laughed as she hit the gas
I remembered where I was at
Chorus:
(‘Cause) It’s hard to be cool when you’re behind the wheel
Of an eight passenger automobile
In a big bubble, cruisin’ down the street
With Barney blarin’ and a baby seat
Hey it can be done, but I’m tellin’ you man
It’s hard to be cool in a minivan.
I couldn’t begin to count how many times I said, “I will never drive a minivan” back when I was hip and cool (or imagined that I was). Of course it was said with absolute contempt for anyone who actually did. And I really really believed that I never would. When my friend Tara traded in her Ford Explorer for a Windstar I couldn’t believe it; I was so disappointed. Then her extremely hip mother did it too, for the grandkids, and I was just beside myself. Two years later, I had a ten-month-old and was 4 months pregnant. I was driving my husband’s Silverado extended cab (I had an F-150 single cab) and was having a hard time getting my daughter or myself into the truck. So it was time to shop vehicles. We didn’t even think to consider a minivan; we were looking for used SUV’s and they were all just too hard to get into, hard to reach back to our daughter, more money than we had to spend. One freezing day in January we were standing in the lot at Carmax holding the baby carrier and shivering to death, and the salesman said, “I have a Windstar all heated up and running if you want to try that.” We rolled our eyes at each other but we did, mostly because we were so cold. We took a 20-minute ride and got out and got back in the truck, both too ashamed to say what we were thinking: “That was GREAT!” Captain’s seats with armrests up front, seating for 5 more; when my daughter started crying I just got up and walked back there and sat next to her. Then there was the automatic sliding door, I had never experienced anything like that. And these are the features on an old minivan—imagine a new one—all 3 of the back doors open automatically, DVD systems with LCD’s in the second and third rows, stow-and-go seating.
Once we admitted our shame we started looking for a minivan, and ended up with our 1999 Toyota Sienna. My friends gave me so much crap that I had an “I used to be cool” bumper sticker made up for it, which made me feel slightly better; at least people were laughing at the sticker and not me. Well, they were probably laughing at me too.
That was 5 years ago and our van is now 10 years old and it has been pretty darn fantastic—no maintenance (knock on wood) at 128K. It’s fun, and quite useful, to configure the seats around in different ways. Here is the very best part: when I walk out of my house, I click ‘unlock’ and then I click ‘open door’ and my kids run into the van and are sitting in their car seats by the time I get there, loaded down with all of their junk.
So you might be thinking that this should be titled, “Ode to the minivan”. Not true. I have a love/hate relationship with my van. The hate part is pretty much summed up by the song. The second that you buy that van, your coolness just washes away, potentially gone forever, because by the time that you get rid of it you’re probably going to be too old or worn out to be cool anymore anyway. I can promise you this: you will never feel sexy in that van, no matter how sexy you might feel prior to getting in. Driving the van to the party (or wherever you’re going) puts a hex on your whole night, so drive the other vehicle if you can. Also, nobody will ever look at you or flirt with you in your van. Well, maybe except for some “MILF”s from teenage boys at stoplights, and you don’t feel that good about that anyway because you know that they are probably laughing about it as they blow past you. (And, really, is MILF something to feel good about in the first place?)
