My Minivan...a Sacred Place.

Growing up, there were a few places you could always find me. The trampoline, where I was free and strong all summer; the living room heating vent, where I huddled with a blanket and a book all winter. But, my very favorite place was in my parents’ cars, where I was loved.

In the front seat of my dad’s car I cried on his shoulder when I didn’t get a good part in the dance recital; he held me, told me he loved me and really meant it. It was there I learned I loved Cat Stevens and that my dad was cooler than any other dad because he sang AC/DC at the top of his lungs. It was where he would ask me about my life and where I felt like it was okay to tell him as we finished a greasy bag of Crazy Bread together before we arrived home for dinner.

In the back seat of my mom’s car was where I was introduced to the Boxcar Children on long rides to California. It was where she quizzed me on spelling words as she rushed me to dance class. In the front seat was where she attempted to talk to me about sex. It was where she told me how disappointed she was that I would lie to her and sneak out of the house and put myself in danger. It was where I felt like a grown-up as we chatted about girls, boys, school, work, and the future. In her front seat was where I changed from being her little girl to her friend.

In the back seat of my minivan is where my boys have sung my favorite songs from childhood, where they have learned their ABC’s, where they have mastered addition and the color of stoplights. It’s where they ask me questions about God, about the world and nature; it’s where they listen to really cheesy made up stories that they still can’t get enough of. It’s where they yell at me to, “Turn it up!” and where they roll their eyes when I sing too loudly to an old school song. It’s where they learn to share their space and time with each other.  

As I drive the everyday routine of carpools and baseball practice, almost every car I see has a mom on a phone, a dad with an ear piece, and kids with their own iSomething. The whole family is together but completely separate.

Because of our obsession with being entertained and occupied all the time, I often wonder how many tears have been missed, how many conversations never happen, how many joys have gone unshared because everyone is always so busy doing the unimportant.

Families should bicker about what song to listen to; families should be a little bored together every now and then; parents should still have to sing to their kids or tell them a story to pass the time; families should look out the window at the world together; siblings should be forced to talk about what is going on every once in awhile. Life is not always about getting what you want all the time, for parents or for children. The path of least resistance rarely yields unforgettable moments.

In the car, a family is held hostage. Kids have to talk to their parents. Without intrusive technology there is no escape from togetherness, and during a time when it seems no one is ever going the same direction and individuals often feel alone, parents should hold on to this one last sanctuary for as long as they can.