Over the past year somewhat of a cult has emerged in our household. It’s a new religion, really. Many families go to temple or attend church. Some keep statues and portraits of gods in their home. We have Lightning McQueen.
We have three different toy models of the red sports coup that Leena and Sonya drive around the house (Leena remarkably will even make “vroom” noises). Some kids have a blanket, others have a stuffed animal – Sonya cuddles up with a small matchbox car at night. Leena incorporates a Lightning McQueen placemat into her mealtime ritual of launching food onto the floor. Some mornings I will wake up and discover that both of my daughters have disappeared only to be replaced by race cars that are screeching and stomping around the house at 7:15 AM.
So it should come as no surprise that, when I asked Sonya for a photo challenge to complete during my trip to Minneapolis (to complement the photo challenges that I left for my ladies, adorably documented on montrealzen), she immediately responded “with Lightnin’ McQueen, Daddy.”
After some searching, I discovered that there are very few likenesses of the Disney character on the University of Minneapolis campus. So Forest and Leah, dear friends of ours, picked me up from my hotel and made the pilgrimage with me to SuperTarget.
Such places of power are hard to find in Canada. And upon entering the store, I was immediately disoriented by the gravity of the place. Patterned t-shirts, skateboards, loofas, party-sized bags of M&Ms, and counters of digital cameras cried out all at once “Buy me!” However, I held true to the mission and forged my way through to the toy isles.
Founded by babies and toddlers, our McQueen cult is primeval. Lacking the civilized sterility of hymnals, services, and creeds, we draw power from our icons by imitating, holding, and (as seen below) adorning ourselves with our deities.
And were our deity not cast out of metal, we would, no doubt, eat him, too. Since I was at Target, I did the next best thing: bought a bag of M&Ms.