My name is Mark Fagan, and I’m a minivan man.
There, I said it. I’m not afraid to admit I drive a minivan.
Sure, now that I’m entering my fourth decade on earth — and have the “I’m a man! I’m 40!” T-shirt my wife gave me to prove it — I could pine to climb behind the wheel of a new 638-horsepower, V8-under-the-fiberglass hood Corvette ZR1. But parting with more than $104,000 just isn’t my style.
A massive Ram pickup truck could fit the “guy” profile, but I’m certain that’s much better suited for my Mr. Fix-It neighbors. Those guys could build a house in the time it takes me to switch out the screen on my storm door.
A Harley-Davidson, all chromed up and unmuffled for power? Let’s leave that to Marty Kennedy, Brian Kubota and their other two-wheelin’ compatriots.
I simply prefer convenience, and our 2004 Honda Odyssey serves me just fine:
• I can haul stuff around, just as soon as I unload all the soccer balls, stadium chairs and coolers that come in handy for the kids’ Saturday soccer games. That back door allows for useful tailgating.
• The seats in back are big enough for any crew, young or old. Unconvinced? Just try squeezing three couples into a Ford Mustang GT for a trip to La Bodega in Kansas City for a little Adults’ Night Out. Not bueno.
• And the automatic doors are pure genius. I can load groceries into the back with the ease of a simple push of a button. As far as I can tell that’s an option that comes standard only on some sort of James Bond-mobile. Or a retrofitted DeLorean.
For those of you super-cool guys with über-fast cars and push-the-limits personalities who still aren’t convinced about the greatness of my oh-so-vanilla mode of transport, I’ve got one more thought for you: When’s the last time you saw a guy getting pulled over in a minivan?