Thank You

Christie beat me to it. She hijacked the publication this afternoon and said what I probably wouldn’t have said about myself. That’s what 24 years with the same woman does. She knows the story better than you do.

To everyone who sent a message, left a comment, or took 10 seconds out of your Saturday to say happy birthday... thank you. I don’t take it lightly.

45 years. I wrote something about it.

The Green Van

Green Dodge Grand Caravan.

Not the green on brochures.

The green that says this is what the payment allowed.

Two car seats in the back.

Then three.

Then four.

Then five, a dog, and a cooler

and whatever would fit between the legs

of kids who learned to sleep

at highway speed.

That van knew every state line

between Montana and the coast.

Between fear and the next town,

where we’d figure it out.

The AC died somewhere in Iowa.

We rolled the windows down

and told the kids it was an adventure.

It was July.

They believed us.

Christie drove when I couldn’t keep my eyes open.

I drove when she needed to sit in the back

with whoever was crying.

We traded the wheel like a baton

in a race we didn’t sign up for

but were running anyway.

The seats had juice stains

and Cheerio dust

and a smell that was ours.

Not good. Not bad.

Ours.

We prayed in that van.

Fought in that van.

Laughed in that van at things

that weren’t funny to anyone else

because nobody else was there.

It took us to hospitals

and churches

and first days of everything.

It sat in parking lots

while we sat in waiting rooms

pretending we weren’t scared.

The odometer rolled past numbers

I didn’t think it had in it.

Neither did I.

But here we are.

That van is gone now.

Sold it or scrapped it,

I don’t even remember which.

Doesn’t matter.

The people it carried are still here.

All of them.

Every mile was worth it.

Thank you for reading. Thank you for being here. Back to regular programming next week.

— Adam