The Band Van

Last Thursday night I'd just fallen asleep when I was awakened by my seventeen-year-old son.

"Mom! You gotta see this. Come quick."

The bedroom light glared, illuminating my son, hopping up and down in the doorway. Had he been about ten years younger, I would have ordered him into the bathroom at once. Instead, I left the comfort of my bed and donned robe and slippers to see what was up. Already a little leery of what that might be (recent experience in the form of a bazillion watt, six-foot tall amp weighing on my mind), I followed him to the front door and outside.

And there, gracing our driveway, was an old, ugly, Dodge van conversion---with teenage boys swarming all over it.

"What is it?" I asked, though I could clearly see that at one time it had passed as a motor vehicle.

"It's our band van," Spencer exclaimed. "Isn't it sweet? I just bought it."

"You what?!" I was awake now.

"I bought it from the Tongan family around the corner---just $300."

Feeling dizzy, I sat down hard on the step while Spencer continued explaining the intricacies of his van---the van that would now be parked in our driveway. The realtor we'd just listed our house with was going to be thrilled.

"Come see the inside, Mom." Spencer ran down the walk. After a minute I followed, determined to see it all---the bad, the worse, and the truly awful. The side doors opened as I approached.

"All the doors open and close. And it's only missing one window." Spencer's friend, sitting in the driver's seat, informed me. The van shook as his brother scaled the ladder on the back and beat on the roof.

"It's solid!" he shouted down to us.

I peeked inside. It was was dirty and smelly and---

"Isn't it sweet?" Spencer asked. "We already took the other two captain's chairs out, so we can redo the carpet. And we'll keep them out when we're transporting our equipment. But when we take road trips to Moab, the seats will be great."

I frowned as I eyed the couch in back. "Just who are you thinking of going to Moab with?" I looked around at all the boys and spoke in my sternest voice. "This is not going to be a van that's a rockin. No girls---got it?"

"This van's going to rock all right," Spencer's friend, Jordan said. "With music. The tape player even works."

"It's just for moving our band equipment, Mom," Spencer said. "And for taking road trips. It's perfect." He was practically glowing.

It was suddenly hard not to share his enthusiasm. His grin was infectious, and in his eyes I saw reflections of my own youth. I realized he was right. For him the van was perfect. He was feeling on top of the world, and for a few minutes, anyway, I understood why.

For a mere $300. he'd just purchased a good piece of freedom and independence. Not only would these wheels get him around town and beyond (or so he hopes), but they'd solve the transportation problem for his band. Now---when they're soon in hot demand---they'll be able to travel to their gigs.

I never had a band, never had musical aspirations like he does, but I did have a car and a lot of dreams as a youth. As I stood in my robe and slippers in our driveway, looking at "the beast," as the boys had already dubbed it, I was transported back in time to 1985, to the glorious day I got my driver's license and to the little Le Car my father purchased for me. I remember well the exhilarating freedom that little car brought me. I remember stuffing it full of girls and luggage and heading off to French camp the summer between my junior and senior years of high school---and getting grounded from my car when I returned home. Seems I wasn't supposed to drive that many girls, that far, on California's busy highways. I think I recall knowing this beforehand, but how could I resist driving my French car to French camp? I still remember pulling into the parking lot, my friends, standing up in the back, waving wildly through the sun roof. Good times. Fun memories.

I sold that little car to help pay for my freshman year at BYU, but when I returned home the next summer, my stepfather was very generous, letting me drive his Honda all over the place. I remember driving down to Marriotts Great America and getting lost at night in San Francisco on the way home. My friend from Colorado checked the door locks and hunkered down in her seat as we drove through some less-than-desirable parts of town trying to find our way to the Golden Gate. We eventually did and spent a couple more days in the city that week, exploring everything from Chinatown to Pier 39, Saks 5th Avenue, and beyond. Ah youth . . . when having fun was the central part of our life. School, work, marriage, babies, mortgages, retirement, and our own teenagers were all in the distant future. The present was the time for exploring the world and having fun.

How could I have forgotten?

I hurried into the house and called my husband's cell phone, bracing him for the sight that was to greet him when he returned home from a late night taking care of bishop responsibilities. Fortunately, like me, he isn't too old to remember how it was to be young and to have transportation---no matter how hideous (he drove a Maverick that had seen better days). And when he returned home, he spent some time with Spencer, listening as he pointed out all the fine features on the band van.

Since last Thursday, said van has undergone a few changes: carpet removed (and AC line accidentally cut in the process. Thanks, good neighbor for helping the boys repair it), and a free-for-all paint job(ie. all the various leftover paint we had in our garage) on the outside of the van. Teenage priorities being what they are, the boys are "tricking it out" before they pursue seeing if it will pass inspection. Once it does that, there's just one more detail Spencer needs to take care of to put the grand plan for the band van into action . . .

We hope he'll have his license soon.