Things Not Recommended for a Mini-Van

After a week's worth of flight time in the new vehicle, I've compiled a comprehensive list of recommendations for driving a mini-van. I do this because, one, I care. And two, I have lost my sense of dignity. As such, I recommend you heed this advice in earnest.

DO NOT UNDER ANY CIRCUMSTANCE...

1. Take a trip to a remote Mexican village and drive around real slow with the doors open while shouting, "Who wants a ride to opportunity?!" in a bullhorn. The mini-van may have 17 cup-holders but it will not fit the corresponding number of eager, sun-hardened immigrants anxious to mow your lawn. Seriously, though, I felt somewhat bad for driving through the boarder gate at 87 mph while my passengers' limbs were hanging out. I can only imagine the difficulty in pushing a lawnmower around without the use of one or more of your limbs.

2. Pretend to re-enact the German's blitzkrieg tank assault on Poland, but while in the Wal-Mart parking lot. Although professional welfare recipients, plump from years of Snicker-Bar consumption and redneck families dressed in coordinated hunting gear, together, make for a convincing group of terrified civilians running from the terror of the merciless Hun invader, those golf carts driven by the parking lot rent-a-cops are faster than you think. Once 30 or so swarm you, the war's over.

3. While shirt-less, hang out of the sun roof in the middle of the day and rub your nipples in a suggestive fashion as you motor on down the road. Aside from the obvious, it's very hard to drive with your feet, not to mention there's literally no explanation that will persuade cops they shouldn't give you a ticket. (I've got 3 court dates from this stunt alone).

4. Mini-vans make poor substitutes for the Batmobile. You get some really funny looks from fellow commuters as you throw Bat-a-rangs at their windows while you wait for the light to change. At first I thought it was the hooded cowl, cape and tights, but no, it was the mini-van. Even with those cool, automatic sliding doors, the van eventually made me feel self-conscious and I went home.

5. Just because it's a Japanese manufactured vehicle; thus, superior in every way, you shouldn't drive to every Ford, Chevy and Dodge dealership, wait for the salesman to approach so you can scream, "YOU SHOULD BE ASHAMED OF YOURSELF FOR WHAT YOU'RE DOING TO AMERICA!" then drive off to the next car lot to repeat the whole scene all over again. I could only do this about 10 or 12 times as I started to get embarrassed watching from my rear-view mirror as they crumple onto their knees, weeping into their hands. I mean, have a heart already.

6. Wearing your most authentic cowboy outfit complete with hat and fully operational lasso, attend some large public event like a Texans football game or the Houston Livestock and Rodeo Show. As all 6 bazillion vehicles attempt to exit the parking lot simultaneously, pop up from the sunroof and start swinging that lasso around in the air while busting out with phrases like, "Yee haw! Yippie Tie Yay!" and "Get along there lil' doggies!" Try to have a long repertoire of cowboy-inspired phrases or the other drivers won't respect you as believable. If you can, get a friend to drive and while you give directions so as to herd the other vehicles in any direction you see fit... oh, and hope that lighting doesn't spook them to stampede.

7. Drive as fast as you can down the freeway until you get pulled over by the police. When they ask you just what in the hell did you think that you were doing, respond indignantly with, "What?! This is the Millennium Falcon, the fastest ship in the galaxy - it did the Kessel Run in 9 parsecs!" When the cop opens his mouth to speak, cue your friend (who should be wearing a wookie costume) in the back seat to appear behind you with a long bellowing roar. Then say, "Your right, Chewy, he does look like a scruffy, nerf herder." If the cop doesn't just walk away, then tell him you're going to file a motion in the Galactic Senate requesting that Jedis be immediately dispatched to police headquarters for "aggressive negotiations."

8. Stand next to your mini-van while at Toy-R-Us. When kids and parents walk by, dramatically flop onto the hood, extending your arms, embarrassing the van in a hug. Using your best, tear-filled voice cry, "Thank you! Thank you! Thank you! Thank you for rescuing me from the Decepticons! I love you, Optimus Prime! I want to have your mini-mini-van children!" If in the off-chance anyone joins you in extending their affections to your vehicle, get up in their face and challenge them with, "Hey, freak! This one's mine. Go find love somewhere else, you sicko!"

9. Go to a pubic high school, and drive around the parking lot slowly. When you see a groups of girls hanging out, drive over and in your best "cool-guy" voice ask them if they like ice cream. JEEZ! Kids these days are soooooo immature - haven't they ever heard of a "joke?" Apparently, the SWAT Team hasn't either. Tazers tickle.

And my final and biggest warning of what not to do in a mini-van...

10. Find the nearest public recreational park - one with lots of soccer fields. On game day when every field is packed full of kids and spectators, drive recklessly through the crowd, horn blaring, and dirt flying, until you reach center field at which point, wrench the steering wheel hard right so as to execute the perfect "cookie" with your van. Then, jump out and accusingly yell to the stunned on-lookers, "YOU HYPOCRITES!!! THE TERM 'SOCCER MOM' ISN'T EXCLUSIVE TO WOMEN! GENDER STEREOTYPING IS A HATE CRIME!" Then jump back in the van and drive like hell to the closest Hooters Family Restaurant.

Are these all fun? Yes. Recommended? No.

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It's a bird! It's a plane! It's a.... Mini-Van?

That's right. Nothing says commitment like "mini-van." A 2006, Honda Odyssey, with leather seats and a "mommy mirror." Yes, the carefree skirt-chasing days of my swinging bachelorhood are officially over. My beloved Dodge Charger with it's dual exhaust, and hemi engine, sits cold and alone in some strange parking lot, waiting to be auctioned off to some second-rate car dealer, or worse... a chop-shop! I've never been a "car person" per say (my 4 year old Sawyer knows more about changing the oil than I do), but my Charger was the first car I purchased because I liked it - not because it was the only one I could afford. It was the one vehicle that really meshed with my "bad-boy" image.

Unlike the Charger, The mini-van won't quite have the same effect when we roll up to the club and rev the engine at the valet station, ensuring everyone in line notices who gets out and walks straight to the front, slapping shoulder with our bouncer friends and walking straight on into the party. Usually, such dramatic, but warranted displays would later result in somebody offering to buy me a drink along with the comment, "You're the guy with the Charger! Nice car... that thing gotta Hemi?"

Although my buddies would appreciate the spacious, leg room and 17 cup holders, which equates to holding almost a case and a half of beer, we all would still be aware it's still not a fire-red, Dodge Charger. Besides, I'm sure they will be less than thrilled that I will now be parking a minimum of 6 blocks away from any clubs so as not to be recognized as the owner, nor will they relish the fact that they now have to conduct a quick inspection of each other's backsides to pick off the kids' "seat droppings" (stray gummy bears and snack crumbs) in the same fashion as monkeys when searching for hidden lice in the hair of their mates.

Don't get me wrong. I'm not bitter. The idea of trying to jam 5 kids (Ashley's 2 girls and my 3 boys) into the back seat of the Charger is pretty much on par with the Israelis and Palestinians simultaneously occupying the Gaza strip, irregardless of it's spacious trunk capacity and leather interior. Short of UN intervention and the presence of the Red Cross, a mini-van makes practical sense for long trips and smuggling illegal aliens.

No. My issue is merely that I am hoping I don't lose my manhood and "cool-guy" image as I transition into this next phase of my life. I'm trying hard to guard against it. The first day after purchasing it, I intentionally wore my black, Triumph Motorcycle jacket - the one with the skull on the back - to drive Ashley's girls to school; however, it just didn't feel the same clicking the remote to activate the automatic, sliding doors and discussing the joys of Hanna Montana as we walked into the building.

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A Father-Son Presidential Debate

Every evening I call and talk with the boys before they go to bed. Most nights the conversation is pretty much the same: Noah talks about Star Wars or The Justice League, making up complex stories complete with sub-plots and surprise twists. Harrison tells wild jokes and gives serious consideration to which girl he's going to marry this week. He seems to gravitate towards “cougars” as all of his prospects are first and second-graders. Sawyer condenses the events of the last three hours into a breathless, 15 second monologue. Adjectives and articles (such as a, an, and the) get in the way of his frenetic report and are dropped completely, leaving room for only “Sawyergotruckfunwithbrothersouchfelldownloveyoubye!” It is rare that I get a word in before he shuts off the phone.

Noah decided to change the subject on me the other night. I anticipated a continuation of our ongoing musings about what happened to Lex Luthor as a child that shaped him into the evil villain he is today. Instead, he surprised me with “Dad, who are you going to vote for in the presidential election?” The question sounds even better when spoken by a 9-year-old who actually knows what he's asking and expects a sincere answer.

“Well, I'm not sure, son.” Which was the truth. I hadn’t even registered to vote yet and I was rather indifferent on the matter. He seemed to sense the apathy in my voice and was apparently not pleased.

“You are going to vote? Right, Dad? You know voting is important.” He sounded exactly like those volunteers that work the phones as pollsters for various political campaigns. Except that he still had the unmarred, child-like faith that I couldn’t bear to crush. Santa Claus, Easter Bunny, each vote counts. I knew I must handle this discussion gracefully and leave my hard-earned political cynicism aside.

“You’re right Noah, it is very important.”

“Who do you like the best? Who do you think will win?” His questions were becoming rapid and unrelenting like a trial lawyer aggressively cross-examining a nervous witness. He was trying to trip me up and I knew I needed step it up a notch. Fight fire with a little fire, as they say.

“Well, to be honest, son, I don't know. In my estimation, given the stage of the election it's too far out to make a prediction. However, after the primary elections are complete we will have a clearer picture of the likely outcome. There is plenty of time yet for public perception to be swayed.” Now who's smarter than a 5th-grader?

“I can see that. You make excellent points.” He didn't miss a beat. “You know who I think will win, Dad?”

“No, I don't, Noah. Who do you think will win?”

“Barack Obama.” His answer was simple yet confident and spoken with that same unnerving and confident faith. And for whatever reason I recalled the time when I found Noah at age three sitting alone on the floor and staring at the wall. As I watched him sit there motionless for several minutes I started to fear that maybe he was manifesting early signs of autism. I eventually got his attention and asked him what he was doing. In a voice much older than his three years, he explained quite succinctly, “I’m thinking about stuff.” With that memory in mind I finally admitted to myself that I was over-matched in the discussion. But I was still curious to hear his reasoning. “Really? Obama? Why is that, son?”

“I have a good feeling about him.”


“A good feeling? A good feeling?” I shot back. I finally saw my opportunity to pounce and gain the upper hand. I've noticed that when interviewers want to passive aggressively challenge the credibility of a guest's statement they respond by asking a question twice in row making sure that the repeat is phrased dramatically slower as if they were trying to understand directions by Japanese tourists. I congratulated myself for having ability to skillfully imitate this advanced tactic.

“Yeah, Dad. A good feeling.”

“That's all you got? Feelings?!” Good, Ron. Keep repeating yourself.

“Well, I gotta go Dad. Mom says it's my turn for bedtime stories. Bye! Love you! Give you to Harrison. Bye! Love you!”

Hey! No fair. I was just beginning to feel smart again. I bet George Stephanopoulos didn't use his mom as an excuse to duck out when the questions got a little too tough to answer. Fine. Go on and finish your Time Magazine articles before bed. Despite my disappointment that a victory in political debate with 3rd grader had eluded me I felt very proud to have a son so aware of the world around him.

Thirty seconds later, 6 year-old Harrison was on the line demonstrating that he too was aware of the world around him. The only difference being that Harrison's world consisted mainly of the female sex as he explained how today he kissed this older broad in Noah's class. I at least took comfort in the fact that explaining the “birds and the bees” to Harrison was a subject that didn't exceed the grasp of my understanding. However, that relief was short-lived with the realization that my sons quite possibly were headed down a road that would make them the future reincarnation of the Kennedys - Robbert, Bobbie and Ted! And with that, the vision of my youngest son, Sawyer crashing his Big Wheel off the sidewalk and skinning the knee of some “unknown, female passenger” played out before my eyes.

“This could be trouble,” I thought. However, it also occurred to me the role that the Kennedy's father Joe played in shaping his son's awareness of the world, making for a poignant reminder of what my sons will learn from me.



As an epilogue to this little story I've included a picture that I found of Barack OBama posing with Superman. I don't know if Noah saw this picture and that's what prompted his so called, “good feeling,” but I do know that if I reinforce in my boys the beliefs in truth, justice and the American way (and treating women respectfully) while being responsible for their actions then they can't go wrong regardless if they run for President or they run a dry-cleaning store.

As an epilogue to this little story I've included a picture that I found of Barack OBama posing with Superman. I don't know if Noah saw this picture and that's what prompted his so called, "good feeling," but I do know that if I reinforce in my boys the beliefs in truth, justice and the American way (and treating women respectfully) while being responsible for their actions then they can't go wrong regardless if they run for President or they run a dry-cleaning store.

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Is This What "Faith" Is?

Some of you may have heard the latest in the self-proclaimed saga that is my life, but if not I thought I'd post a letter that I wrote to our pastor at Ecclesia that pretty much out lines the events and my feelings on the matter. In the subject header I wrote, I'm pretty sure your sermon Sunday got me fired... (It's all about getting someone's attention. What pastor could resist that headline?)

The rest of the letter continues:

...well, not directly. For a long time now I've had this feeling that I haven't been moving in the direction God has meant for me. I used to think it was just my ADD because I get bored easily. Being a high-paid, successful executive at a Fortune 500 company can get pretty boring pretty quick - at least for me anyway - and so this pull to do something completely different, given the fact that I was in, what many would consider a pretty enviable position doesn't make much sense. This has been going on inside me for about 3 years now (I'm a slow learner riding the spiritual short-bus to heaven), and as time wore on I have only grown incrementally more dissatisfied with my endeavors. It's a subject that my fiancé and I discussed all the time as she has felt the same way herself, being a very talented writer and photographer, but working in the oil & gas business punching numbers into spreadsheets all day.

This past Monday night I was telling her about my day and that reoccurring feeling that I should be doing something different.

"I just don't know" I kept saying.

Placing her hand on my shoulder, she smiled, "I really thought Sunday's sermon was for you." I had to think a minute and she recognized the look (like I said I have ADD). "Abraham? ... God calling him to do all this stuff and making impossible promises, and Abraham maintaining his faith without knowing how God would come through?..."

"Right! Okay, I remember now." Then I got this really odd vibe. "I think I'm going to get fired tomorrow." Now understand there is no rhyme or reason for this to be true. The company I had been working for is pretty stable with no indication of major troubles and I'd been performing my duties without issue. The next day I walked in and was asked to go to the conference room where the president, my boss and the HR rep were all sitting there. Sure enough I was let go. I only wish my predictions worked with lottery tickets and preventing terrorist attacks.

I got home and my fiancé called. She was crying. I planned on telling her what happened after she got off work because I didn't want her to be freaked all day so when I heard her on the line I figured she'd already found out through some of our friends, I asked her what was wrong anyway.

"I just got fired today."

God has the best comedic timing of anyone I know - for us to both lose our jobs on the exact same day for no reason at all is beyond coincidence. The two of us only respond to the ridiculously, blinding, flashes of the obvious and this little incident would fit those criteria quite appropriately. The thing is we are both in debt over our eyeballs, have numerous obligations and are planning a wedding on top of it, and yet we have a peace that this is the "push" to go where we both felt we were been pulled all along. Don't get me wrong; it's still a little scary. The word "eviction" doesn't sound so bright and sunny, but somehow it's all going to work the way God meant it to from the beginning.

Honestly, I have no real idea why I'm writing this to you except maybe to provide some encouragement to you that God really does speak through you in order for His message to have a timely impact. Two of my brother-in laws are pastors and sometimes I know that they wonder if what they are teaching even makes sense let alone reaches the hearts of the congregation. Your sermon really didn't get either one of us fired, but it was there as a reminder of who God is and how He works. I've just felt the need these past few days to tell you this... usually, if I have a feeling for more than 72 hours it's not ADD, it's something I should probably act on. Encouragement is an essential element of community.

That's really it. I'm going to go back to sitting on the couch, eating my soggy cereal and watching cartoons now. Thanks

Honestly, I have no idea what's in store for us. Literally, we have no money to pay things such as cars, rent and child support. I've been stealing toilet paper from public restrooms (kidding... I have faith. TP falling from the sky like manna from heaven!). Right now Ashley and I are attempting to start a freelance commercial writing business, and think it has a good shot at working out - provided our ADD doesn't kill us first. Just pray for us and if you know of anyone you think would help to know for our business goals let us know. Otherwise, hide your TP if you know we're coming to visit you.

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