In the 1970s, vans were cool: painted flames, mag wheels, smoked-glass bubble windows, shag carpet and the Doobie Brothers on the eight track. vans were rolling clubhouses for the wild and crazy youth of the ’70s. re-watch Fast Times at Ridgemount High if you don’t know what I’m talking about. You’ve seen the bumper stickers, “If the van’s a rockin’…Don’t come knockin’.”
When minivans rolled onto the scene they changed all that. If a minivan is rockin’ it means the kids are inside beating the crap out of one another and the parents are oblivious to the racket because they are wearing Bluetooth headphones. For nostalgia’s sake I hope they’re listening to Rockin’ Down the Highway.
Women think men hate minivans because of the word mini. They think it’s a Freudian thing stemming from insecurities about size. Not true…I don’t have a problem with the word mini at all. Mini-putt is a challenging and fun short game of golf. The Mini is a sporty and practical city car. And my favourite, miniskirts, are a classy fashion garment freeing women of burdensome knee-length skirts.
And it’s not vans men have a problem with. Take Mr. T’s black and red-striped 1983 GMC in The A-Team for example. “My van’s cool, fool,” B.A. Baracus might say. The Mystery Machine in Scooby-Doo is cool. What guy didn’t want to travel around with Freddi, Daphne, Velma and Shaggy in their 1968 Chevrolet Sportvan eating Scooby snacks and solving mysteries? Without their van (and the scooby snacks, maybe) the show would be just a bunch of meddling kids and their damn dog solving the same dumb crime over and over again.
The minivan is not without its benefits.
Theatre seating, tons of luggage capacity, a smooth ride and reasonable fuel economy are qualities men use to justify their purchase. The same men always provide a qualifier when they praise it. “It handles pretty well…for a minivan.” or, “It’s actually pretty cool…for a minivan.” There is also a standard set of statements they use when being ribbed at the office. “It’s my wife’s.” Or, “It’s what works best for my family right now,” is another good one.
The problem with minivans is the image. If you’re 20 years old and driving a minivan, it’s obviously your dad’s. If you’re over 35 and driving a minivan, you are the dad. Minivans strip men of every ounce of pride and suction cup a diamond-shaped yellow sign to the rear window that reads, “Middle-aged sucker on Board.” And this is pretty rough for me because, as my wife puts it, I still see myself as a 25-year-old, raft-guiding, canoe instructing, camping-in-my-truck university bum, despite a greying goatee and mortgage.
I swear if ever the appeal of two sliding doors of practicality wins out over my dirt-bag sense of self, I will only refer to my reluctantly acquired vehicle as “the van.” And I’ll have it so plastered with stickers, loaded with canoes, kayaks and bikes and packed full of tents, sleeping bags, coolers, fishing rods, my wife and our kids that there will be only just enough room left over for a middle-aged guy and his iPod, holding the complete Doobie Brothers anthology.
This article first appeared in the Early Summer 2007 issue of Canoeroots Magazine. For more great content, subscribe to Canoeroots’ print and digital editions here.
