This morning I was almost run over by yet another unqualified driver, and I just don’t feel like the tiny beep-beep of my horn was enough of a cry against the onslaught. I hope that this site doesn’t end up becoming one of those rant-a-day sites, but I can be quiet no more. I have a bone to pick, and it isn’t with someone you usually associate with, um, bone picking. I have a problem with the Soccer Mom.

What!? A complaint against that bastion of parental involvement? What am I, a communist? Are apple pie and hot dogs next? No. At least not until I get run over by an apple pie or a hot dog.

Now, I have no problems with Soccer Moms per se, especially because they’re trying to stay involved in their kids’ lives. True, it’s usually by chauffeuring them around, but the effort is being made. No problem there. We wouldn’t want eight year olds driving themselves, would we?

My issue is that I obviously missed the notice that went around decreeing that soccer moms must drive a vehicle no smaller than a Ford Expedition, and preferably a Suburban or Excursion. It was probably when it became acceptable for the Army wannabes to drive Humvees to work, but that’s another rant altogether. And this isn’t a “let’s bash women drivers” session. I know several women who are better drivers than many of my male friends. It has nothing to do with sex. It just so happens that in the course of my observations, the offending drivers have been of the motherly variety.

Remember when mom used to drive a mini-van? My mom wasn’t technically a soccer mom, since I was more of an office/library child, and learned early on that I would probably get killed playing team sports, but my sister and I fit just fine in our old mini-van. It was the marriage of space and maneuverability. It was drivable, had relatively few blind spots and a low center of gravity, perfect for schlepping around the kids and whatnot. Today, the new ones are even cooler*, with DVD players, hideaway seats, remote control doors, etc. (*Cooler than they used to be. Not cooler than, say, a sports car, but they certainly are better than they were.)

I just don’t know when it became the necessary for a parent who hauls around two kids and their backpacks to need to drive a tank. The argument for the lack of fuel economy aside, when did little Jimmy require 437 cubic feet of space to transport him to school? And before you say it’s so they can carry the whole team and their gear to an event – have you honestly ever seen more than two children climb out of one of these things? The most I’ve ever seen was three, and I think that’s because they found an extra child who was lost in the nether regions between the fourth row and the cargo area.

Drop by the local soccer field some Saturday morning. You won’t see a bunch of kids pouring out of a few vehicles, you’ll see a parking lot full of gigantic suburban four-by-fours, none of which will ever even see a dirt road. So what if they’re only hauling a kid’s duffel bag and a lawn chair for mom, have you felt the ride? Smooth…like an aircraft carrier. If your vehicle is so long you can’t make it through the drive through, don’t complain to the kid who has to stand on a chair to hand you your order. They’re making minimum wage, and could care less about the fact that the building you drive can’t make the loop around the one he’s standing in.

If driving one of these monsters doesn’t test the nerves, watch drivers try to park one. Not only will the vehicle not fit in any single parking space, if they do manage to get the front end into one, the doors can’t be opened without hitting the cars on either side. I watched one child crank open the back door before his mom made the quarter-mile run around the back to let him out and he hit the car parked next to them in the window. Not the side of the door, the window. That means the vehicle you’re driving is too damn big.

They seat, what, twelve people, yet the average occupants of these behemoths seems to be two. Toss in the latte, cell phone, the three DVD screens blaring cartoons, the satellite radio and the fact that the SUV is almost too wide for the road’s lane dividers, and it’s a recipe for disaster. How many distractions can we possibly pack into one vehicle? No worries though, the road warrior and child are safely tucked away in their six-thousand-pound mobile cocoon. If I’m on the same road, it’s my responsibility to make sure I don’t get run over – not theirs. After all, if I drove one of those, I wouldn’t have to worry about being crushed by one, right?

I guess my point is, it doesn’t matter to me what you drive, as long as it’s relevant to your needs and that you know how to drive it safely. You don’t have to drive a boat to prove anything to me…I mean, the very fact that you managed to push another human being out of yourself gets you respect in my book. However, that fact doesn’t also automatically bestow upon you the knowledge required to drive a city bus. I’m just saying that maybe, just maybe, it isn’t all that necessary that you drive a vehicle designed for going into battle instead of one designed for traveling to the office.