That first minivan comes loaded – with the realities of parenthood
Once upon a time, we were cool. Or at least we thought we were.
This is before we learned the names of all four Teletubbies, before juice stains became a fashion accessory, before PG-13 seemed soooo risque.
Slowly, we rode the gradual decline of cool. And then, abruptly, the ride stopped, crashing into a sudden, late 20s/early 30s austere reality.
"Honey, I'm sorry, but we need a minivan."
A what?
"I had to convince my husband to get this," says Angie McCullough, 30, who is trying to shoehorn a stroller into her Chrysler Town & Country with her two sons and her friend's two daughters. "When we got married, he said he would never drive one of these things. Well, that changed."
Ahh, the dreaded "M" word, the modern-day equivalent of the lusterless "station wagon."
What was so foreign a concept when we were romanticizing about our children on our honeymoon is now staring at us, grill to grill.
We are now forced to answer difficult questions:
How did it come to this? When did my parents get to be the ones to drive a convertible and not me? Am I even qualified to judge whether it's cool to call things "cool" anymore?
No matter how you spin it, how they advertise it, how a couple with young children tries to reach back into their parents' pop culture nostalgia to a time when a VW bus was groovy, man … minivans are about as stylish as going bald.
If you hear a whistle, that most certainly is not an admirer calling at you, because you are either a.) conspicuously domesticated or b.) driving your parents' minivan.
The car companies are beginning to avoid the "M" word the way restaurants do the "E coli" word. For one, General Motors has announced it's changing the names of its minivans to "crossover sport vans," whatever that's supposed to mean.
Anything to make the inevitable easier to swallow.
Counseling, with purchase
When answering a couple's question about the minivan, Paul McCleod often finds himself in the position of being a sort of "you're-getting-older-but-it's-OK" advisor.
McCleod is the new-car manager at Crown Nissan on Laurens Road, where, if you're looking for space for your kids, you're looking either at the Quest minivan or the hulking Armada SUV.
If you have a ballooning family, the only way to avoid a minivan sentence is to either accept cramped quarters or invest in the largest — and most expensive — of the SUVs.
McCleod says he hears the term "soccer mom" regularly when showing potential buyers the Quest, which along with other newer models of minivans has made an effort to bring a stylish look to the line, with rounder, sportier edges and even add-ons like rear spoilers.
"The biggest thing I hear from parents is, 'I don't want a minivan because I don't want people to think I'm a soccer mom,'" he says.
Then comes the needle dose of reality.
"Of course," he says, "my answer is, 'It doesn't matter what you drive or what you look like. When you pull up to the Wal-Mart, open the door and your five kids get out, they're going to know you're a soccer mom.'"
The label "soccer mom" was first assigned to the young mothers in the 1990s who could swing a presidential election. But somewhere along the way it took on a life of its own, becoming a synonym for unfashionable that seems to go hand in hand with the minivan.
The fear of stereotyping — motivated a great deal by how automobiles are marketed toward age groups and lifestyles – is central to the decision of whether to buy a minivan, McCleod says.
SUV vs. the minivan
It comes down in large part to personality, and what you buy might say a lot about how you are accepting your changing life role.
In his 2002 manifesto on SUVs, "High and Mighty: The World's Most Dangerous Vehicles and How They Got That Way," author Keith Bradsher pointed out how automakers study the differences between minivan and SUV buyers.
In interviews with market research analysts at major automakers, Bradsher found that, overall, minivan owners are more comfortable with being married and being parents.
At just more than 1 million sold each year, minivans seem to be OK with plenty of drivers. The genre has even seen a resurgence in the first five months of this year after three years of steadily declining sales.
Minivan sales jumped 7.2 percent from January through May compared with a year ago, according to industry researcher Autodata. That's still behind overall SUV sales, which grew 9.3 percent, but well ahead of the 3.2 percent sales growth for the auto industry as a whole.
Jamie Dagenais and her husband, who drive a Jeep Grand Cherokee, had always told themselves that they would just "drive a big enough SUV" because of the stigma attached to minivans.
But now that their two girls, ages 3 and 1, are starting to take up more space and now that gas prices are higher, she's leaning toward buying a minivan.
There comes a time, the 30-year-old mother says, when reality catches up with you.
"I don't think I mind so much now," she says. "I'm not getting any second looks getting out of the car now anyway, so it doesn't matter if I get out of a minivan or a sports car."
Coming to terms
If you choose to drive a minivan, fellow owners will tell you the best thing to do is simply accept that you have, indeed, become a minivan driver. And that's not so bad.
No, really.
"Whatever my sisters say about my minivan, I don't care," says Joan Land, 28, who has become accustomed to the ribbing that goes along with driving her 2002 Ford Windstar.
The Land clan used to drive around in a 1996 Chevy Impala before switching to the Windstar. Land says she looked at SUVs, but they either sucked too much gas and rode like trucks or weren't really any roomier than a car.
Like so many others, she doesn't have to drive a minivan, but she does because it just makes too much sense not to.
Land says she thinks it comes down to personality and a willingness to accept a new phase of life. She can't quite understand why her sisters insist on cramming their kids into a car.
"I've never cared what anybody thinks," she says. "What I drive doesn't make me. I care more about how comfortable my kids are."
There is a light at the end of the tunnel. For minivan drivers, there is the solace that you won't have to drive one forever. Call it a reason to look forward to turning 40.
Joey Bearden, fleet manager for Benson Chrysler, Dodge and Jeep in Greer, says he's seen the cycle firsthand, both with customers who come to the lot and with his wife.
Now that his kids are grown, Bearden says his wife has completed her minivan years and is now driving a sporty, convertible Chrysler Sebring.
But, he says, the cycle is not yet over. With a new grandchild in the mix, Bearden says they are now looking to trade the Sebring for a sedan.
"It's a continuing, changing thing in life," he says.
Such is the way of the minivan.
Your vessel on that self-sacrificial journey to and from the land of uncool.
