Sometimes it�s all in how you look at it. I used to think that our minivan was suffering from an ordinary, very bad, early 1990s, Chrysler paint job but my friend Amy has explained the real deal to me. The van is going bald.

When the van first began balding, we tried covering it up. We used touch-up paint by the gallon. The result was as unsatisfying, and as permanent, as those sprays you see on late night TV that promise to cover bald spots. If we put a car-top carrier on there, would it be the equivalent of combing over the too-long hair or would it be more like wearing a cap?

We considered the paint equivalent of a hair transplant. Our insurance wouldn�t cover it and I wasn�t willing to sell my firstborn to make the operation possible. Besides, the operation would not restore beauty. You can�t restore what never was. I bought the van because it was a good deal not because I find white vans with fake wood siding attractive.

Taking the van to the carwash is an experience these days. The van comes out clean and more paint-free. Now that Amy has explained it to me, I realize that this experience is something like the experience of Mr. Philately taking a shower. I wonder if the van�s disappearing paint is clogging the drain of the carwash. Do they call a plumber after we leave?

I suppose the van is old enough in car years to go bald. Because being fifteen years for a car is something like being one hundred for a man, it�s safe to say that our van is seventy-three years old in people years. We hear it complain as we turn the steering wheel but it�s basically in good health. It should wear the outward signs of aging as a badge of honor. It�s essence is so important to us that it�s appearance is relatively unimportant. It still hauls girl scouts around as well as vans half its age (and it hauls siblings around better because it has captain�s chairs rather than a bench seat in the middle.)

So those of you who are tempted to laugh at my van, desist. Would you laugh at an old man just because he was bald?

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