This is objectively funny

There are times when I tell stories from my childhood, and my kids wonder if I made them up. Against many potential stories, this is one that never fails to both confuse and horrify people, so it seemed time to write it down. My childhood is a comedy, not a tragedy, and just thinking of this story cracks me up such that I can never tell it without a pause to catch my breath.

I was reminded of this story after watching this part of the movie Little Miss Sunshine, which somehow captures the color of my childhood even though the story is different. While I didn't look like Olive, I didn't not look like her either. Anyway, this story is absolutely a part of my memoir when I get around to writing that.

A bit of scene setting.

I moved in with my mom and step-dad to start kindergarten. This was the 1976-1977 school year, I was 5, my sister 8 and my step sister was in high school. My mom would have been just 29 (!), a fact that never ceases to blow my mind if I'm honest.

Pretty soon after getting settled in the new neighborhood, they decided we were a church going family. I am not entirely sure how that came about, but we became regulars at the First Baptist church. This church was a fairly conservative congregation, that was not at all sure what to make of the dope smoking hippy family that joined. In their defence, this confusion was a feature not a bug with my family.

We were very much a march to the beat of a different drummer family. So, of course, we didn't just attend on Sunday - we marched to the front of the church each week to sit in the front row, dressed in our finest bell bottom jeans and loud mini skirts. You can imagine, my parents were simultaneously loved by the teens and awkwardly tolerated* by their parents.

Even at five, I was pretty aware of our collective "take us or leave us" approach.

It was a whole vibe.

Of course, while the entire experience was clearly cringe-worthy, I really loved the children's musical theater group, and I did not have any other church (or blended family) experiences to compare with, so I didn't really find it that unusual. What added that "extra something" was the way we arrived each week - again a bit more backstory is required.

My parents had a fairly new carpet cleaning business, they found clients by putting an ad in the yellow pages, and cold calling every listing in the white pages with promise of reliable and cheap service. The carpet cleaning was delivered by my stepdad from a white work van - the kind with no windows that your parents warned you held kidnappers.

The below image is pretty close but not precise - no one bothered to take photos of this van and even the internet wasn't really helpful, so I had AI take a go.

As you probably guessed, this van had only 2 seats, the back had plywood on the bottom and nothing else - perfect for loading carpet shampooer, vacuum, rake, chemicals, etc.

Every Sunday, we would collectively take out all of the cleaning equipment so there was space for us in the van. Now, I'm sure you wonder where the three (or 5 if it was summer and the other step-siblings were in town) would sit. A logical person might guess on the floor, with the general thinking that this might be not a great situation, but manageable.

Here I laugh at your bias for safety and your lack of creative imagination for making the trip more of a quid pro quo for Jesus.

It is worth noting, that this was before mandatory seatbelt laws and in a time where it was perfectly normal to throw kids in the back of pickup trucks, so it's not like safety was top of mind in the '70s. That said, the Webers did not exist to be average. No, everything was done with a certain type of savoir faire that defied description - a big part of why my kids wonder if I made this up. Anyway back to our story.

Our Sunday church departure routine

• Step one: Empty out the van.

• Step two: Head into the house to get kitchen chairs and put them in the van.

I am sad to report that I am not aware of any photos of those lovely chairs either, but below is a pretty close visual. While the pattern is not exactly right, the legs and the vinyl are accurate. You can immediately understand how a five year olds legs would stick uncomfortably to the seat while wearing a "church dress".

Thus began my long dresses era.

Of course, the issue with sitting on a kitchen chair in the back of a moving van is not [just] that your legs were uncomfortably sticking to the seat, but more that the seat was not sticking to the floor. There is nothing really to hold onto when this happens, because at age 5-6 your limbs are not well sized for bracing yourself, and even if you wanted to, there was no real place to do that well.

So you would try to wedge your fingers in the molding between the wall and the ceiling which was not at all comfortable but "kind of" helped. Mostly, as the youngest I was at the mercy of my siblings to help my chair get back on all four legs when I tipped over on most every turn.

I am not entirely sure how long that drive was - it's probable that we never went on the freeway, but I can say with confidence we had several turns before arriving safely parked at church. Then, we had that super classy sliding side door sound to announce our arrival and a good size leap to exit to safety.

So when I ever begin to feel awkward, different or uncomfortable in a new environment, my five year old self says "hold my beer".

_____

*it's possible I am wrong about the parents take - entirely possible they were gobsmacked and horrified. That would also track.