-Note- My beautiful wife Jennifer has asked me to pitch in on her blog. I will do this every Monday which we will hereby title Man-day!!! We’ll see just how long a leash she gives me.
Here is my first contribution. . .
There is a milestone that many father’s don’t achieve but those of us that do, recognize well. It is the point after you have your third child. You see, three children don’t fit well into a normal car, and they can’t even pretend to fit into a truck, at least not a truck that a man with three small kids can afford. It is at that point the dreaded word “Minivan” makes its first appearance.
Not one unmarried male has ever dreamed, or even considered, ever owning a minivan outside of needing one for business purposes. There could be many reason’s for that, but I personally lay the blame on the excesses of the 60’s and 70’s that gave us this:
So when Jennifer broached the subject I got defensive:
Me: I think we should wait. We can fit a third car seat right in the back there.
Jennifer: Do you realize how much stuff it takes to mobilize three children? We do plan on traveling at least once in a while, right?
Me: Darn it!, good point. How about:
Jennifer: Cold stare of death.
Me: Seriously? Why not?
Jennifer: Because I will be the one driving it most of the time. Because I’m not interested in driving a vehicle one class below a tank, and because a minivan is an entire zip code better than:
Me: Ok, fine, let’s go look. . .
Once I got over the pride of being in the market for a minivan, the slippery slope was remarkably. . . slippery. I don’t doubt the salesmen have a pitch targeted at reluctant minivan dads:
“Look, 17 cup holders in all!”
“If you remove the back seats, you can fit in an entire 15 sheets of plywood!” (It can, I measured.)
“Built in DVD!”
“The Engine can be shifted manually for those times when you are towing big generic manly stuff!”
“Upgrade space for sub woofers.”
We settled on the Hyundai Entourage:
And I haven’t looked back.
Here’s the thing. When you finally throw yourself into the daddy thing, which we do, corniness can become a new form of pride. There is something about the terrified look in your twelve-year-old daughter’s eye when you roll down the windows and blast the oldies station playing “You Can’t Touch This” while dropping her off at a birthday party. Or listening to the squeal of delight from your kindergartner when successfully pulling off the Electric Slide at a school daddy-daughter dance. Those things are manly and right.
The minivan is just the thing that gets us there in style. . .
