I come from a road trippin’ family.

I consider this a HUGE gift in my life.

I remember slurping soda through a straw, searching for new treats in the seat-back pockets my mom designed and sewed for such occasions, and singing my heart out to songs I knew and songs I didn’t.

I remember thousands of jokes no one but us would ever get.

I remember the fuzzy top of our dog’s head in my footwell, the only place she would ever ride.

I remember getting dizzy reading and having to stare straight ahead for an hour and chew Stimorol not to feel queasy.

I remember white shirts with rubbery sparkle letters and pink shorts and yellow flip flops, kicked off as soon as I sat down.

I remember doing road sign math, and trying to figure out what a kilometre really looked like.

I remember my mom’s head on her pillow against the window, and my dad smiling at me in the rearview mirror every time she would snore and I would laugh.

I remember bees in the back window, and my brother’s valiant efforts to save me from their blackyellow fuzzy doom.

I remember marveling at waterfalls on mountain sides and suddenly needing to pee.

I remember rocks dinging the windshield and my dad’s deep sigh.

I remember my brother and I lying foot-to-head across the backseat, covered in a blanket, ordered to sleep for a bit in the dead of night.

I remember how quickly my brother could fall asleep.

I remember flipping through Archie comics by the light of an LCD calculator lit up with 8888888 until my dad told me I needed to sleep, too.

I remember a sky full of stars that I’d finally see when the car was dark, and like nothing was ever so big before.

I remember feeling safe, no matter what.

I hope I find me a road-trippin’ man.