Minivan Man

Hello. My name is Caleb, and I'm a minivan man. I wasn’t always this way though. There was a time when the mere thought of driving a minivan would send blood to my cheeks and chills down my back. However six months ago, when my son Eli was born, my transformation from truck guy to minivan man began. I knew that Eli’s birth would mean big changes but I never realized it meant becoming a minivan man.

I used to own a truck. I bought it years before getting married, and was proud of it and all I thought it represented. When I sold the truck a few days ago, I should have been sad to see it go. After all, it was everything I wanted people to think I was when I bought it: tough, attractive, able to haul 1,000 pounds. At least that last one’s still true.

However, after Eli was born, my superficial attachment to the truck started to fade. Just like with many other things in my life it was time to sacrifice my pride and priorities for this new priority. Plus, my embarrassment radar stopped working when Eli came out. Things that used to turn my cheeks red (e.g., public fart noises, conversations about the female reproductive system, and driving a minivan) just pass right through me now. Perhaps that’s because I now regularly get farted on, field questions about OB visits, and drive a minivan.

Of course, fatherhood consists of deeper changes (if you thought that said diaper changes you’re a dad) than just the car you drive. The truth is, being a dad means giving up something no one wants to let go of: yourself. Suddenly numero uno is replaced, and has to be replaced, by baby. No matter how quickly you realize this, or how necessary you know it to be, it’s not easy.

I think a lot of men run into this when they get married. Certainly stereotypes abound about how marriage is the ultimate constrainer of a guy’s liberty (it’s not). But no matter how much of your selfishness you give up when you get married, it pales in comparison to what you must give up when you become a father. The good news is, that’s a good thing.

It’s good to sacrifice yourself for something greater than yourself. It doesn’t always feel good Eli once spit-up down my boxers at three in the morning. That doesn’t feel good). And I’m not going to pretend it’s easy or something you always want to do. But when you become a father you know it’s worth it.

That’s how I became a minivan man. I’m now fully embracing my new role and can tell that the minivan man community is very tightly knit. Not a single minivan man I’ve waved at (and I wave at them all) has returned my wave with anything less than a regal head nod.

I wonder what the next “minivan” change is going to be. A fanny pack? I shiver at the thought of it. Then again, minivan men know how to adapt.