Minivan Thoughts

(a wandering tale of sorts with too many hyphenated words)

Once upon a time, there was a girl who learned to drive in a gray minivan. Sometimes this girl would drop her mom off at her job at an elementary school so she could drive to high school, but usually the girl was dropped off by her mom for early bird P.E. and then picked up by Mimi at 3:00. 

Almost thirty years later, that minivan-girl taught her own firstborn to drive in a minivan, maroon this time. Somewhat fitting that the van is maroon, she thinks. Her school pick-up/drop-off began with this firstborn much later than her school-carpool-days, but they eventually did begin, much to her surprise, if she’s honest.

While the teen girl had filled her mother’s gray minivan with much chatter almost every time they were in it, the girl’s oldest was a much quieter rider. But every once in a while, the girl’s son would give her the gift of unexpected, meaningful conversation. She treasured those rides very much. They made up for the moments of sitting in the parking lot waiting on him when practice or meetings ran long.  The waiting-in-the-parking-lot-days are long, but the waiting-in-the-parking-lot-years, she now realizes, are short. 

There is only one son in this minivan-girl-now-age-forty-four-mom’s house who will get his license. She has taught him to drive. Not alone, of course. Her husband has taught him much, as well as the worth-every-penny-driver’s-education-teacher. But this middle-aged woman, who thinks it wasn’t that long ago that she went to get her license, has taught a human being to drive. And she has lived to tell about it! These successful driving lessons feel like an even bigger accomplishment than potty training and long division. She will not get the privilege of teaching her other son to drive. When she ponders this for any length of time, she wishes she could go through the stress of teaching a teenager to drive again. Sometimes, when she thinks about milestones like driving and college visits and even long division, she isn’t sure what to do with the grief that accompanies the differences she sees between these brothers, her sons. Sometimes she cries, sometimes she prays, and sometimes she remembers to rejoice that her prayer from when she was pregnant with her youngest was answered: that her boys would be friends. She remembers this yes answer when her youngest asks if his brother can drive him to school. She remembers this yes answer when she sees the big brother help to buckle his little brother in the minivan.

Her ministry of the minivan will continue for decades, although she hopes to downsize vehicles at some point. The minivan was bought in the hope and anticipation of adding more children to their home. Sometimes, when there is yet another repair needed on this not-that-old-minivan, she cries, not just because of the repairs but because of what her heart whispers about the death of some dreams: “not fair.” But then she dries her tears and looks around the crumbs and the piles of books and a set of swim goggles in the minivan’s crevices, and she breathes out, “Life is still good. Our life is still beautiful.” 

There are two more days of school drop-offs and pick-ups for her oldest, her minivan, and her. Lord willing, there will be a third vehicle to assist with all of the changes and schedules at the start of next school year. There are a few more days of chauffeuring, and then a trip to the DMV. 

It all sped by much too quickly. Much too fast for someone who drives a minivan. 

But she trusts there are a lot of happily-ever-afters ahead for all of them.