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Back seat passenger

You’ll be happy to know I’m a passive passenger (or maybe you won’t care). It’s an irrefutable fact. I am every driver’s dream. I do not speak unless spoken to. I am blessed with innate, directional savvy, but I only share it upon request. Most importantly, I am willing to travel in the back seat. Not only am I willing, it was my idea.

Increasingly, our thirteen year old and our six year old don’t travel well together. The tension comes from pretty common sibling stock. Longer drives are filled with territorial disputes, arguments about the first amendment (and wether it applies to song or random noises), asserting property rights, and wether touching constitutes assault.

Ah, it all brings me back….

They have no idea how good they have it. I remember when we had to drive to school in the snow, uphill both ways. I remember when my two sisters and I had to share a back seat, three across. Now THAT was a recipe for disaster. Nothing good comes from three kids in the back seat, shoulders touching at the outset. Epic battles were fought over feet placement.

The difference between then and now? My dad could scare us just with his presence or the disapproving look.

When I give my kids a withering stare they think it’s funny. It’s a terrible, helpless feeling. Any parent worth their weight in dirty diapers has a look. The look is a silent killer. My look is great comedy.

So we’ve fallen back to the weak parent solution: separation.

It’s so humiliating.

6 Comments

  1. You and Stephen are amateurs. Two parents, five siblings (we had seven, but the two oldest often stayed home) traveling five hours to Havre Boucher in a 1963 Volkswagen Beetle.

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