Yesterday the boys and I drove into The Big City to shop and visit their orthodontist. En route, I started thinking about a trip I took in the summer of 1987. My dad had a ridiculous amount of vacation time banked, so we went to Vancouver without my mom.
This vacation is memorable for two reasons.
Firstly, I wanted to go to the aquarium, but my dad and brother did not so I walked over by myself. From downtown Vancouver, into Stanley Park, past the Pitch 'N Putt, around the lagoon, under George Street, past the rowing club, and over to the aquarium. I was 14! Doesn't that seem young to be wandering through a strange, urban park? My dad did give me some sage advice as I left: Don't be stupid.
Damn. Parenting in the 80s sounds like a breeze.
The other memory -- and the one that sprang to mind yesterday -- was of the long drive to and from Vancouver. My brother was sprawled in the back seat with his sweet Sony Walkman and a selection of shitty heavy metal music. I sat up in the passenger seat next to my dad. I had two jobs:
1. making minute adjustments to the radio dial so that when the mountains cooperated we could hear CBC radio, and
2. sticking my hand up through the sun roof and giving bad drivers the bird. In unison with my father.
Yesterday when an asshole tried to pass a transport truck on a double yellow, approaching a two-lane bridge at such a pokey speed that the truck driver pulled off the road lest the idiot kill anyone (ie me), I had to give the asshole the finger THROUGH my bug-splattered windshield. It lacked dramatic flare.
My next car will have a sun roof.