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Manly men and the minivan paradigm

May 27, 2007 12:35 am

AT SOME point in his life, every American male should drive a pickup truck. Maybe he doesn't have to own one--though there's nothing like owning one--but he should at least have the experience of driving down the highway in that most American of vehicles, listening to Hank Williams (original recipe, or Hank Jr., or Hank III) and knowing that all is right with the world, even if you've got a broken heart and a worn-out hound dog.

I own an old pickup truck with more than 200,000 miles on it, and it's the best purchase I ever made--with that engagement ring a very close second. (Just kiddin', darlin'.) But I say all this in order to make myself feel better, for of late I've been spotted driving the minivan.

Driving a minivan is, pretty much, the polar opposite of driving a pickup. There's no toughness in a minivan. You miss the commanding height you get in a pickup; you lose the intimidation factor--basically there's no coolness, whatsoever really, in a minivan.

Even Hank Williams songs lose some of the hurtin' in the mini.

At least, that's how I used to see it. But since I've been driving one lately (the truck is in dire need of an alternator, I think), I've had time to come up with new perspectives on the all-important topic of The Minivan and the American Male.

They say a man is reflected by his wheels. Tough truck means tough customer; muscle car means a ladies' man and respect for America's storied car history; and a regular sedan, perhaps, means practical and thrifty.

So what does a minivan say about a man? In the old thinking, it's that the driver must be hen-pecked, or have zero self-esteem (for if he had any, after all, he'd be driving a truck, right?).

But that assumption is wrong. Truth be told, it takes a True Man to drive a minivan.

For what a male minivan driver signifies, above all else, is a man who has the ability and willingness to shoulder responsibility. And that's what made this country great: doing your duty over following personal whim.

For minivans, almost without exception, confirm two things: parenthood and marriage. And I submit that it takes a man with the confidence of David, the strength of Sampson (pre-haircut), and the wisdom of Solomon to enter into those two lifelong commitments.

A minivan signifies, in essence, that a man has put others in front of himself. For minivans are the most practical family vehicles ever invented. They are are designed, first and foremost, to haul kids, and to make their comfort and ease of access a priority.

The minis also have a ton of room for Dad (and Mom, of course, but this column is about the dads) to carry just about everything else--from the Christmas tree to the seemingly endless amount of "stuff" that kids carry around between school, band, sports practice, etc. That is particularly true for newer models that have seats that come out easily, or fold into the floor.

So if noble sacrifice is the mark of a true hero, then here's a tip of the hat to all the dads out there in the Siennas, the Town and Countrys, the Grand Caravans. You deserve that next cold one.

You have given of yourself first. You display inner toughness. You are, truth be told, a manly man.

And, along those lines, let me suggest that, contrary to all popular perception, driving a minivan confirms a man as, er, physically fit. After all, since it's a vehicle designed to move children, it signifies the male in question is a healthy, red-blooded American boy. A sire.

'Nuff said.

At this point, SUV drivers are gnashing their teeth, crying out in anguish: "But there's another way! A quasi-tough way, but also a family-friendly way! It's the SUV!" And they're absolutely right: SUVs can be cool, tough, and yet family-friendly all at the same time.

But there's perhaps no better measure of a man than the one who goes to the ultimate length for others--who sacrifices everything, even his dignity, for his family vehicle--and getting behind the wheel of the mini is the surest sign of strong Zen-like confidence, of commitment to Mission One.

Finally, of course, there's comfort. Minivans are generally darned comfortable. Their entire reason for being is to make kids happy and a parent's life easier.

The defense rests.

It's true, in the end, that nothing will ever replace the feeling of driving south on 95 in a pickup truck, or idling at a stoplight with the roar of your truck's engine creating the sweetest all-American tune since Smokey Robinson sang "Tears of a Clown."

I'll always own a pickup. But I'll hold my head up high in the minivan, too.