End of the Minivan Era

Today has been a difficult day for Uncle Steve Jordan.

The Era of the Minivan has come to an end.

For the past 3 years or so, I've driven a minivan. A 1995 Plymouth Voyager, a real honest-to-goodness soccer mom minivan. And I EMBRACED it. I had a bumper sticker that said "My child is an honors student." I have a shirt that says "Soccer Mom." I have another shirt that says "Minivan Mega Fun."

Don't you see? It was ironic. I'm not a soccer mom. I don't have a child who is an honors student. Nor do I have a child.

That's why it was clever. And hip. Because it's ironic.

So I really loved driving that behemoth. Or, as I liked to call it, the green mother ship.

But the repairs became too frequent, the overheated engine became too common, the leaking coolant (and door that didn't open, and cracked windshield, and windows that didn't roll down, and the air conditioning that didn't work) became too constant. So I let her go. Today.

What am I going to do now? Without this ironic part of me? Can I still wear my "Minivan Mega Fun" shirt? Do I have to try to be interesting all on my own? Develop a personality or something?

Because I like things that are a substitute for actually being an engaging person. Like "I drive a minivan." Or "I don't have a cell phone." Or "My favorite bands are more obscure than your favorite bands."

Sigh.

At least my Chicago Blackhawks are tearing through the NHL playoffs.

Wait a minute . . . I'm a hockey fan . . . I drove a mini van . . . I was almost a hockey mom!

Like my hero Sarah Palin.

And as I said goodbye to the minivan, I was wondering, do we really have relationships with inanimate objects? I suppose we do. Certainly children do with their dolls and stuffed animals. But us adults? Are we really attached to things that aren't alive? Do concrete objects actually posses a personality? Do we think they have some kind of soul or something? Or is that just what our minds project UPON them? And if it is just something our mind does, then we should just be able to turn off our minds when we have to say goodbye. Because there's nothing really THERE, is there?

I'll now be on a bike path or sidewalk near you. See you then.