If anything held us in place, it was the luggage on long trips. With seats folded down, we found niches in which to ride. With little room to move, we felt like the first Astronauts, our faces inches from a window, watching the world go by. Claustrophobia is a fear generally unknown to children, which made such car trips possible.
Most of the time, we had no luggage, so we were free. As our station wagon cruised along city roads or highways, we dive bombed from the back seat into the way back, and then back again. Many a countryside have I traveled with my forehead planted into the vinyl seats, my feet touching the car ceiling. I wonder what that image must look like for a father checking his rear view mirror, the sight of traffic behind him blocked by skinny, boyish legs that end in a pair of well worn sneakers. I do not think on this image for long. Since I am a father of three, it makes me too nervous.
We are certainly much better for the last thirty years’ worth of advancements in child restraint systems and the laws requiring their use. Yet I cannot help feeling sorry that my children will never know what it is like to sleep stretched out in the back seat as the car makes its way home. Just as I can remember what it was like to chase down a tennis ball while running at full speed, though my legs won’t do it now, I recall these slumber filled voyages. How easy it is to remember the streetlights shining through the window, each light dancing quickly on our closed eyelids before the car moves on. How familiar are the gentle pulls of the left turns on our heads, and the right turns on our feet. Our bodies shifting from head to toe as each turn brings us closer to home.
We slept many nights this way, returning from grandparents’ houses or vacations. In our sleep we would have no idea where we were. This would change, of course, as we reached home. The car slowed, turned, and we felt the familiar bump of the driveway. Silence as the engine called it a night, then the interior light. We would wake just enough to be mindful of being carried inside.
We remember these times. Times like so many others that have been lost with the passing of the years.
We remember the road games, too. In an effort that our kids might know at least some of the good times we had back then, we didn’t splurge for the DVD package when we bought our first family car. We wanted our children to experience travel the way we did as kids. Pay attention to their surroundings. Use their imagination. Play road games.
The ABC Game is one that most children played, and my children have taken to this one. The goal is to find the letters of the alphabet, in order, on various highway signs. The first to find all the letters wins. Qs and Zs tend to be the hardest, and I’ve often thought that if I ever win the lottery, one of my first purchases will be to buy billboard space on the highway. It’ll read: “The quick brown fox jumps over the lazy dog. Kids, you’re welcome.”
When we were free range in back seats, the game was easier, as we could move however necessary to find signs. Press the face right against the window to get a good view. Want to see what the signs facing the other way say? Turn all the way around. Or even jump into the wayback to see.
Though the game’s rules certainly had variations from car to car, all versions require that the player call the letter and the word. For instance, “I found an X in Exit.” This rule makes it tough for my five-year-old boy to compete against my eight-year-old daughter. Edward is just learning to read, and getting better every day. But since he still has to sound words out, he has a hard time doing so before the signs disappear. We are happy that he is reading at home. Reading signs at seventy miles per hour will come.
So we excuse him from this requirement. Big sister does not think this is fair.
Another game they play is one Edward created, called The Name Game. Each player must, in order, find the letters of his or her full name. That my daughter has sixteen such letters and Edward has twenty, making his game longer, seems to be lost on them. The happy ignorance of youth.
I Spy is another game they play in the car, which I do not recall our playing on road trips. I’m not a fan of the game, though they insist that I play, even while driving. The objects tend to be the same. I spy something green. Trees. Yellow. The road lines. Orange. The buttons on the dashboard. Forget texting. I wish the legislature would prohibit this game while driving.
Perhaps when they get a little older, they will come up with more creative ways to pass the time in the car. When I was younger I always wanted to write this on a piece of paper and, while looking scared, hold it up to cars passing by: “Help, I’m being kidnapped.” I hope my kids don’t do that. I hope my kids don’t do a lot of the things I did or even some of the things I only thought of doing.
I’d probably be okay if they did something like what their Uncle Trip once did, though. My older brother stuffed an entire order of French fries in his mouth during one road trip. My little brother and I knew he was up to something, but when we asked, he would simply raise a finger to tell us to wait. We waited for half an hour, all the while the fries no doubt turning to mush in Trip’s mouth. I’m not sure how he did it. It makes me gag thinking about it. When we pulled alongside a car with two old ladies in it, Trip found his audience. His eyes having met theirs, Trip leaned toward the window and, as though vomiting, let the mush fall from his mouth into an empty cup. The poor old ladies were horrified; their eyes and mouths were wide open.
In the backseat, unrestrained, we fell across each other laughing. It remains one of the most funny things I have ever seen my older brother do on purpose.
I hope my children have such patience and can plan like this.
And I hope that, when they’re my age, they will tell their own kids of the games that they played together.