This seemed like the best venue to announce the parting of myself and my much-loved, much-maligned minivan, The Millennium Falcon. Those of you who know me certainly knew her--that aging silver battle wagon, seatless in back, with a giant gash along her hindquarters where that bastard Brian Jessop hit her at the Shell Station in Everett.
What you may not know, however, is that before I inherited her, she was beautiful. I remember when she first came off the lot. I was a freshman in high school, and she glowed with a cool silver burnish that could only make me think of comic books. Her sounds system was advanced, her double doors were kicking, and, besides the fact that it was a minivan, I was head-over-heels in love.
Time passed. I left for college and returned. After a brief foray with a 1982 Volvo Wagon, the Millennium Falcon and I were joined irrevocably in the fall of 2003, when we drove across the country for my senior year of college. She was still so new that someone tried to get in her and drive her because they thought she was part of the college van fleet.
She could seat 7, had cupholders for all of them, and could actually go 108 miles per hour, which I think is pretty fast for a minivan. She towed a sailboat across the country with Karen and Nick and I. She took all my roommates to bowling. She once pulled Will Stetler's GMC Yukon out of the ditch. I could fit 9 whitewater kayaks on the custom roof rack She also got good gas mileage and did tolerably well with the ladies.
Still, she had her faults. Who doesn't? The horn, cruise control, door locks and alarm didn't work. Many of you who had the pleasure of riding in her remember "rave mode" when the lights, door locks, and beeper start going crazy and you have to warn people that are prone to seizures to be careful. Also, oddly enough, people were fairly able to intuit that the van had once belonged to my mommy, and sometimes I enjoyed some good natured ribbing (no doubt out of jealousy) for my ability to take half a soccer team, a water cooler, and snacks for halftime in my day-to-day commuter vehicle.
All that, good and bad, are over now. Juan, a fine upstanding man from Renton, has purchased the minivan for his wife. I imagine the Millennium Falcon being relieved at finally being able to carry babies around, and, when they get older, maybe take them to soccer games. Its like C-3P0 finally getting put in for some protocol duties instead of space battles.
So farewell, you beautiful silver escape pod of domesticity. You've towed my boats, endured my cigarette smoke, let me sleep in your roomy interior, brushed off the occasional coffee stain and brutal bashing by that bastard Brian Jessop, and, most importantly, won my many thanks
Fly free sweet silver bird! Fly Free!
