Last night, my son was driven home from an event by another parent, who asked if it was OK if he drove his 1974, collectible, cherry red convertible Cadillac with a perfect condition red interior. “Not many more nights we can use it this year,” he said. “And there’s a blanket in the back.”
There’s no way I could have said “no” – even though my maternal instinct (“he might get too cold”) was glaringly in the front of my mind. I had to be cool enough, had to pass the test with this other family (who drives around in the car all the time) and, of course, with my son.
So he came home with ice cold ears but a wide, true smile on his face. He had driven across the city, on a rare night of crystal clear skies with stars and a sliver of the moon visible. He munched trail mix in the back seat of a drop-top Cadillac with an older, much more sophisticated woman (a 5th-grader!). Foreshadowing of nights to come for my little Romeo, who I hope will one day fully understand the joy and lure of cool cars and smart, beautiful girls, and what can be shared under the stars.
When I was a little kid, my parents had a car like this. They installed seat belts for the kids, their nod to our safety in what was actually the family car. Really adds an unexpected splash to an otherwise fairly predictable picture of my parents.