Et tu, Dad?

Wednesday, June 20, 2007 marks the end of 22 years of van ownership in the Kennedy family. I know, I know, it feels strange simply looking at the words I just typed, but they are true. This Wednesday, my father, the man who guided me, who provided the moral blueprint for my entire life, the man who I look up to most in the world (Hulk Hogan is a very close second, and still has his Astrovan, hint hint), the man I admire most, has turned on the family, turned on himself, and sold the poor van up river for a couple of bucks off a new Toyota.

As I write this, I can only imagine the van, sitting peacefully in the driveway (not leaking, by the way), patiently awaiting a set of much needed new tires. My father will get in the van Wednesday morning and the van will be so pleased, because at its ripe old age, being driven is a rare honor, bestowed upon it at odd, but glorious intervals. And the van will pull into a strange parking lot full of strange new cars, all from a far off land, all speaking a strange un-American language. But the van will react as it always has, with poise and respect, and it will attempt to strike up a conversation with these strange vehicles using the universal language of engine ticks, but they will just twitter amongst themselves and point their highbeams and laugh. But the van will just shrug it off, thinking, “Maybe this is where I’ll get some new tires!” And why not so? The van has served for many years, through many trials. Who cares about the twittering cars? Not the van. Because its job is the proudest of all, its job is to protect and transport the Kennedy family, speaking of that, where is the man in the yellow Gore-tex? And that’s when the van will see my father, driving by in a brand new Sandpaper-pearl 4Runner, driving out of its life forever. Only then will the van know sadness…

The way I see it, there are two options, over the next few days I need to float the cash to buy the van outright. I think I can do it if I can leverage some of my eggnog futures and funnel them through a dummy corporation I cooked up the last time I was in Hong Kong.

Or, I can go Brady Bunch-style and convince the Toyota dealership that the van is haunted, thereby making it ineligible as a trade-in.

As we speak, I’m cutting eye holes in an old sheet and digging out the silly-string. I think you know which option I’m leaning toward.