Ye Olde Van-e

When my family and I first moved to the States I was about 7. It was by far the hardest thing we ever had to do, but at least we had each other, even if we weren't crazy about each other, we were going to have to make do. There was no room for tears or anxiety, what was done was done and we were going to have to live with our decision, whether it turned to be a good one or not. My mom and I came first, then about a year later my dad followed. While my dad was taking his sweet time my uncle's family was nice enough to put us up for the year. Hardest year of a lot of people's life. My mom and I slept in the living room while my uncle housed my wayward cousin in the garage (son of my uncle and my dad's sister). There were disputes, pneumonias and a myriad of assorted problems.

Much to everyone's relief my mom and I had found an apartment (for $400- in LA!)and my dad was going to join us soon. As an act of good faith my uncle let us borrow a van, a 1960's Chevy looking thing (much like the picture). Actually it was a 1961, the same year my mom was born. It was an awful, flat tan - the color of dead grass - with the motor in between the two front seats so that if you weren't careful you might burn yourself. The front seats were black pleather and behind that there was not much else, just an empty cavity of ugly tan metal. The back of the van had no windows, no carpeting, no flat floor and most importantly no seats. At least the seat-belt law hadn't been put into place yet.

I remember many a road trip riding in the back of the van. The back was my dominion - I laid blankets all around the floor and made a bed for myself, did cartwheels at stop lights, and bounced around when we hit a bump. Stopping suddenly was the best because whatever activity I was doing in the back of the van was stopped abruptly and I was thrown towards the engine. I had good times in that van. If we ever lost our apartment we could have all slept there comfortably. In fact, now that I think about it I don't know why we didn't take it on camping trips. I suppose because we are city people. Besides I doubt that van would have made it up any sort of anthill.

The best part about the van was when it would decide to take a break in the middle of an intersection. Once we were turning left, on our way to an adventure (you see, my parents' philosophy was that weekends were NEVER EVER for working, ever, at all)when the van decided to stop in the middle of the intersection. The nice thing about living where we lived was that this was not an uncommon sight. Quickly, a few other cars stopped and men got out to help us push. "A empujar! A empujar!" (to push, to push) My mom, dad and a few other dudes were pushing the van out of the intersection as I took the wheel and steered us to safety. My mom and dad squeezed between the seats and took a look at the engine, argued for a little bit and it was decided that the problem was fixed. My dad started the van and we rode into the sunset looking for tamales.