Tradition! Tradition! Tradition!
Oh how we love Traditions. They make us feel warm and happy. The recognized and predictable create continuity in our hectic ever changing world. And each family can create their very own traditions. A unique tradition enhances the emotional value it holds for everyone involved. It is “ours” and we grow to love it like a puppy or a kitten. Even better, traditions don’t grow old. They seem to stay young and thereby they keep us young.
I have decided to start my own tradition, one I cannot share with the rest of my family and friends, but a tradition I feel is just as important as our family visit to Pittsburgh for Thanksgiving or the celebration of a friend’s birthday at our favorite Tapas restaurant. I have started a tradition with my Van. Yes, my Van. I consider the Van to be The Academy Award of motherhood and all that is right with the world. I see it as the symbol of “I made it!” I am a real success. I was never into cars growing up. Mainly because I am a girl, and more importantly because my family did not own one, for very long that is. So, my first car, a Nissan Sentra, was fun and cheap (we had a lot in common). It served its purpose and lived a long life (I hope to do the same). I was sad to see it go, but I replaced it with the new and trendy car that you can’t dent. Obviously it did not leave a lasting impression on me because I cannot even recall its name, but I do remember the effective marketing associated with it. It was that car where you don’t have to negotiate a price. You know the one. But it was not until I got my first Van that I really fell in love with an automobile. I fell in love with the space it provided and the easy access to children in the second row, and being high up so I can see over the cars or peer into the windows of all those fancy SUV’s. Oh, I knew I was not one of them, but yet, I felt superior in some way. I had something those SUV’s only dreamt of having. I am not sure what it was, but it I knew it was there.
It never really mattered what Van I had, any Van would do. So I guess I am the Tiger Woods of Van Love. Any port in the storm, any Van in the Garage will do. Once my husband decided I needed a new Van. He stopped at Carmax on the way home from work and bought it. He replaced the old Van with the new One and did not tell me. I went into the garage the next day, got in the Van and went about me daily routine without even noticing it was a different vehicle. A Van is a Van in my eyes. I think I will always want to drive a Van even when I am 80 years old, if I am still allowed to drive by then.
My Tradition with my Van is in its 3rd or 4th year. I stopped counting. I think of it as a Holiday Tradition because it always occurs at the same time of year as Hanukkah and Christmas. I find a large chunk of ice in a strip mall parking lot where I have parked while running an errand (e.g. Going to the bakery, the orthodontist, the drug store) and as I am leaving (yes it is important this occurs on the departure from the lot and not the arrival). I need to somehow maneuver back and forth in order to pull out of any parking situation. . I don’t see it, but after plowing there are always mini mountains of ice in every parking lot. Since I still have the cognitive development of a 2 year old, if I don’t see it, then it does not exist. It is a simpler way of living, but one for which I have a deep appreciation. So I drive into the large chunk of ice and destroy my front fender. Crack it wide open! I then drive home hearing some strange noise and think, “oh shit, not again!” My average Van will last 10 years. Over the course of its life, it will need to have at least 8 new front fenders. I drive by Braille I guess. Sometimes the cracks can go un-mended but usually I am stuck with a large bill I consider to be the Christmas present my Van did not ask for but got anyways like the ugly sweater with the bells on it. Yes, it is a Christmas gift, not a Hanukkah gift, because my Van is not Jewish. I know that how? I am not sure.
So my Van is the Titanic always in search of the elusive iceberg. But my Van and I will not go down with the ship. We get on the life boat and say good-by to yet another Front Fender. You served us well. You will be missed. You will be replaced. And the tradition continues.
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