A Man and his VW Bus

If you’re a man in the early 1970s with a baby blue VW bus, you’re going places. If that baby blue VW bus has calico curtains with gingham trim, you’re going in style (or you have a wife who thinks it’s stylish). If the back of that blue van is covered in stickers from camping spots and hiking trails from all over the mid-Atlantic, you’ve been places.

My father’s expression in this photo could certainly inspire a variety of thought bubbles over his head. The most apt one? “Quick, take this picture so I can go change into my dungarees!” (No doubt, this photo captured him on his way home from church—the only time he ever wore a suit.) Another thought bubble might be: “This bus is leaving in five minutes—with or without you!” This refrain accompanied our frenetic exit from the house before each and every trip.

I believe my father was at his most relaxed, most elated when behind the wheel of this van. It would have been packed to the gills with bicycles on top, Coleman camping gear in the back, three kids loaded into their seats—and maybe, blissfully, not fighting—and a large cup of iced tea in his cup holder. We would have been listening to Glenn Campbell, Johnny Cash, CCR or Van Morrison on the radio.

Traveling west on I-64, we must have been quite a sight for those we passed. I imagine their comments involved references to the Clampetts or Jack Kerouac or worse. But we wouldn’t have cared. We would have been heading toward the hills for a nice getaway that created priceless memories for us all. I wish I knew how many miles we clocked on Skyline Drive or the Blue Ridge Parkway or even out to the Great Smokey Mountains.

At the time, this way of traveling would not have been novel or even peculiar. It was just us—family. And that’s how we rolled. Camping allowed us to explore the outdoors, be adventurous, be together, without spending a lot of hard-earned cash.

While it sounds like the simple life, I suspect my mother would have disagreed since she was the one who had to pack everything – including the little wire contraption for making toast on the giant gas stove we lugged with us. Even the simple life has its complications.

The baby blue VW van has become iconic for me and my siblings for our travels and our childhood. Yes, it’s nostalgia at its best – or worst. But it also represents happiness and adventure and freedom and a time before cancer changed everything.

It’s interesting how we cling to icons or symbols to explain who we are, or describe our past, or our beliefs and values, or our loyalty to a team or concept: religious symbols we wear around our necks, flags we fly on our houses, sweatshirts with logos of our favorite team, the elephant or donkey we embrace in political posts. We use symbols in pursuit of our better selves or to even reveal our worst instincts. Of course, in fiction, symbols are powerful tools for relaying a lot of information or emotion in an economic manner. Symbols often take on meaning or power long after their actual life in order to explain the unexplainable or the desired state of some utopia—past or future. Nonetheless, symbols speak to us quickly—sometimes superficially, sometimes profoundly.

Saint Augustine is credited with saying:

“Symbols are powerful because they are the visible signs of invisible realities.”

Saint Augustine

What are the symbols with which you identify in your life?

This baby blue VW bus with its gingham curtains may only symbolize our quirky family get-aways, or it might symbolize my entire childhood. All I know is that whenever someone yells “the bus is leaving in five minutes,” I take my seat, quickly. And I’m ready for the ride.