I have become used to the contortions required for climbing into the back seat of my son's car. This came in handy when my wife and I drove down to visit our little boy over the Memorial Day weekend. Most everywhere we went, my son drove. He loves to drive. He loves to drive his car. He likes the feel behind the wheel, and I'm a good sport about piling into the back and allowing my wife the relative privilege of riding shotgun.
We went to dinner. We went to the movies. We went to lunch. Each of these trips required me to fold up into the size of a Supra's back seat. It also allowed me to experience the wonders of the Supra's stereo, which had been modified to perform at the level that would compete with his enhanced exhaust system. With the wind, compression, and the music, each was a memorable ride. Which was fine with me because this trip was about reveling in my son's newly christened adult lifestyle. We were in his town, on his turf.
We stayed at his house. We watched his TV. We hung out on his couch. We went to his favorite restaurants. We bought our donuts at his favorite place. We walked on the beach where he once got his car stuck. We had fun. We were a family once again.
It was an adventure in the land of a college sophomore. I was reminded again and again of my own twenties, and the apartments I inhabited in those years. I remembered driving my car back then: the cramped back seat, and the stereo that blared away as soon as I got behind the wheel. Since I lived in the same city as my mom and dad, they didn't come by to visit very often. I went to their house. Dinner and laundry. This was how we did things back then.
Now when we want to see our son, we drive down the coast and spend a few days wandering and wondering. What does our son's life look like now? What does he do with his time? Of course, his mom and dad weren't really experiencing a day in the life as much as we were all having a little holiday, but it gave us a window into his world.
A back seat view, but a pretty nice view nonetheless.
We liked what we saw.