The Minivan Culture
In the past twenty years or so Minivans have become a cultural phenomenon. I remember when Minivan used to be considered commercial vehicles. They carried merchandise, tools and such. They were the furthest things from looking Cool, even beyond station wagons. Driving one of those boxes-on-four-wheels was a statement of resignation to any hope for being hip. Finally auto designers understood the growing need for a spacious car that welcomes the whole family with enough space to pack for their vacation. It has enough room for carpooling back and forth from school or work. Now there is at least one minivan on every block, sometimes more than one per household.

Driving a minivan is quite a unique experience. Once you cross the line to the minivan world, you become a member of a secret society, which has its own standards and expectations. As a friend of mine once said, "Once you drive a van, you never drive a regular car the same way again." Minivans are for people who won't settle for less than driving their living room around. With cushioned armchairs in the middle row and as many cup holders as could possibly fit, it's a great place to drive, hang out, watch a DVD, or even take a nap. One of the great features of minivans is the folding-into-the-floor third row, which provides ample space for luggage or golf equipment.

With my family growing, in number and in size, I surrendered to getting our own. After thorough research and search, I settled for a lightly used Odyssey. Proud of my accomplishment, I brought it home and showed the kids. It looked wider when I pulled into my driveway than in the dealer's lot. "Wow," the kids marveled. "It's huge!"

Now all our travel plans revolve around the van. We always plan to have friends with us when we go out. It is like we have to fill the extra space now available to us. Couple of friends have reserved the van to help them move next summer. We are seriously considering driving the Van to Florida for our winter vacation instead of flying. Now I have no excuse to delay buying new doors for upstairs. My in-laws share a ride with us every time we visit my wife's sister in New Jersey. And life has not been the same again. It's the minivan's world.

Labor Day
Labor and delivery turned out to be a much longer event than the impression I got from the childbirth class. Or may be because it was our first baby. All that I remember from that class was the breathing technique and playing soft music for mom to relax. I also remember a five-minute video of twenty women giving birth one after the other, which made it seem quick and painless.

Let’s see, where was I on the late morning of February 12, 1997? I was standing in my kitchen waiting for the water to boil to make me a cup of hot tea. A speeding car driven by a woman I never met before pulled into my driveway. My lovely wife with her distinctive belly opened the door and came running into the house. ” My water broke at work,” She announced with excitement “

I knew what to do next. I rehearsed this scene in my head several times. I grabbed the hospital bag and ran to the car and started driving. But wait, my wife was not in the car; she was calling her doctor, who instructed us to go to his office.

After the doctor examined her, he sent us back home; it was too early and the contractions had not started yet. We waited for the contractions for the whole evening and part of the night. Finally at around three in the morning we headed to the hospital. After another examination we were told, “ it’s still too early. Go walk around the hospital for a little while until the contractions become more consistent.” Another couple hours went by. The hospital reluctantly admitted her although they said she was not quite ready. To expedite the process they decided to induce her. “Good,” I thought to my self. “This should be over in couple of hours.” But when I asked one of the nurses, she calmly informed me, “It could take up to twelve hours.”

The moments moved slowly in our small room confinement. I decided to settle in for the ride since we were going to be there for a while. I plugged in the cassette player and played some soft music as instructed at the childbirth class. Exhausted from all the excitement and being up all night, I finally fell asleep. I woke up couple of hours later, but there seemed to be no changes - waiting and more waiting. It was one o’clock in the afternoon, and I hadn’t had anything to eat, so I took a walk to the hospital cafeteria. I decided to treat myself to a nice lunch. A big cheeseburger with onions and French fries seemed to hit the spot.

“That was a good meal, now I’m ready to go back to support my wife.” When I returned to her room, nothing much had changed. As I walked toward her, she seemed very irritated and disgusted like a tourist in a porta potty that has not been cleaned for a month. She demanded, “What’s that smell? . . . It smells like onions. . What is that?” “Honey, that’s me, I just had lunch.” My wife appeared to be in much more pain; I was not sure if it was because of the contractions or the onions.

Time continued to move slowly until suddenly and without any warnings, at about five o’clock, the pace picked up. A team of nurses rushed into the room, turned on all the lights and started wheeling my wife into the delivery room. People in white coats and blue scrubs came in from everywhere. Lights. Camera. Action! Things started to move quickly. My wife’s doctor appeared from nowhere and started to take over. I was getting overwhelmed and excited like in a dream. The next thing I heard was the baby crying. He was taken to a side table to be wiped, measured and weighed.

“Here sir, hold your son,” said a voice bringing me back to reality. A nurse handed me the baby wrapped in a blanket. I looked into his big brown eyes. He stared back and stopped crying. “What a beautiful boy,” I sighed. He is worth the wait.”