ho knew my daughter reads my editorials and uses my misbehavior to keep my two grandsons in line? Recently, she swung by with a thought: one of my past pieces provided an inappropriate glimpse into a magazine guy’s life with his child. “The lady doth protest too much, methinks,” she joked. So here I am, drawing inspiration from nostalgia and her playful critique.

From the whimsical haze of my years in the 1950s and 1960s to my daughter’s similar journeys of the 1970s, car rides were glorious chaos—filled with laughter and adventure, especially when children were involved. We all began our journeys as little ones relegated to the back seat, an unsecured oasis of youthful exuberance stuffed with pillows and the promise of adventure. Families packed their little adventurers into the backs of station wagons, creating mobile playgrounds. Kids sprawled across the rear package tray, pretending it was a magic flying carpet, feet flying high with gleeful giggles, while parents, glancing nervously in the mirrors, would call back, “Are you sleeping back there?” only to be met with the echoes of sleepy laughter. In our family ride, a red and white 1956 Chevy Del Ray, there was always a dog (insert name) with his head stuck way out, clicking off neighboring rearview mirrors and the wind blowing in one ear and out the other.

As I grew, shifting to the front seat was exhilarating; riding shotgun initiated the telling of my own stories—of friends, cars, and the enticing turns life threw our way. Once I moved over to “behind the wheel,” I felt a surge of control, navigating down winding roads filled with dreams. Yet let me tell you, it was sometimes a wild adventure! There were early drag races, off-road shenanigans, and tales sparkling like the chrome of what was now the bumper on my red and white 1956 Chevy Del Ray, each voyage crafting new memories.

But life has a way of taking the wheel. Before long, I found myself back in the “shotgun” seat—this time without a “gun” or the freedom of my younger days. The responsibilities of marriage and parenting reshaped my journey drastically. The birth of my daughter Shannon was a momentous pivot, shifting my focus from carefree road trips to the bustling chaos of family life.

Occasionally, in the midst of parenting, I would find humor in the circle of it all, often returning to that space in the back where I began. It made me smile to think, if only I could invent a car seat for the elderly! The realization that I might soon need it was both amusing and sobering. Yet even as life changed, I have clung fiercely to my roadster and early Corvettes—two seats, just enough for me, as I refused to relinquish my precious spot behind the wheel.

Road trips evolved their flavors of humor and mayhem through the years. Kids clamored in the back, engaging in fierce competitions to see who could fit the most siblings in the front seat. This resulted in delightful chaos, and someone invariably perched precariously on a lap. Who could forget the classic games we made up during the endless drives? “I Spy” became an art form, while contests to hold our breath implanted dramatic bursts of laughter.

Gasoline fumes and the scent of “blow-by” filled the air, a fragrant backdrop to the untroubled, thrilling hours on the open road. The camaraderie, the shared laughter, and that sprinkle of absurdity painted a portrait of a carefree era where danger lurked in the shadows and joy took center stage.

Today, that nostalgia swells within me, awakening memories of spontaneous adventures during road trips that remain humorous tales and treasured lifelines. Once a playground of vibrant innocence, the back seat captures the essence of freedom and evokes laughter that resonates through generations. It serves as a constant reminder that despite life’s twists and turns, adventure—and all its opportunities for laughter—is always just around the bend. And who knows? Perhaps my daughter will find a way to keep that spirit alive as she navigates this wonderfully chaotic journey of parenthood herself.