October 20, 2025 
by M. Regina Cram
I used to love minivans. They have great storage, and the third row separates warring factions when a kid whines, “She looked at me!” But after 15 years cruising suburbia in a box on wheels, I grew tired of minivans. What I really wanted was a Volkswagen Beetle. Convertible. In robin’s egg blue. Was that too much to ask?
The problem was that my husband, Peter, needs a lot of storage space. The last time he threw anything away was around 1975 when he reluctantly parted with his childhood penny candy receipts. The guy’s been known to pack half his worldly possessions just to go to church.
Why am I writing this? One sunny day years ago, I was minding my own business at a busy stop light when a guy in a speeding Datsun slammed into the back of my adorable, industrial gray minivan. The next thing I knew, my car was thrust 40 feet into the intersection with loud scraping sounds.
The back of my van crumpled. Remarkably, no one was hurt but both vehicles were totaled. As the police diagrammed the crash scene a short while later, I sat in my demolished van wondering how we’d manage with just Peter’s cluttered Toyota especially since we had a houseful of teenagers.
Then a dastardly thought occurred to me: Maybe I could get a Volkswagen Beetle out of the deal. Convertible. In robin’s egg blue.
When I broached the subject with Peter, however, he looked at me as if I’d been sniffing too much laundry detergent. “A Beetle?” he replied with dripping sarcasm. “One of those little bug things? How could I fit my collection of broken monitors in a trunk the size of a mailbox?”
I self-righteously informed him that New Beetles are much better than the old ones, thank you very much. They even have heat. But clearly, I was outvoted so I grudgingly consented to the purchase of a used, sickly green station wagon. Did I mention it’s hideous?
Christmas rolled around a few weeks later. At the end of the morning, Peter assembled the kids, aimed a camera at me, and handed me a small package. The card said something about our upcoming wedding anniversary and that he’d marry me all over again.
Inside the wrapping was a lovely jewelry box. To be honest, I groaned. I’m not a big jewelry lover but it was clear Peter had planned something special. I mustered my best plastic smile and opened the box.
My jaw dropped. Nestled inside was a Volkswagen key chain. In my speechless moment, Peter explained that the insurance from the minivan accident made it possible to add a VW. Beetle to the family. Convertible.
It arrived in a blizzard, but we didn’t care. We drove home with the top down, thanking God for His generosity.
Did I mention it’s robin’s egg blue?
Postscript: Years later, a rogue storm toppled a giant oak tree in our yard, which crash-landed on my beautiful Beetle.
Rest in Peace.
M. Regina Cram is a published author and a parishioner of SS. Isidore and Maria Parish.
