Our grandson Madden came for a visit recently. His parents took a short trip to New York to celebrate their anniversary and visit with friends. Amy met Nick on the west side of Cookeville and ferried Madden back to Knoxville. We ate breakfast at Hardees the following morning and then knocked around places that Madden might enjoy. His presence in the back seat sure brought back some memories of the times when his mom and uncle were that age.
First, car seats are much easier to work with these days. Of course, it helps to have a four-door vehicle. When Lacey was small, I drove a Datsun 310 hatch back. Securing her in that car seat was possible only after performing half a dozen contortionist moves. I’m pretty sure that the back and neck surgeries I’ve endured are partly the result of stuffing my kids into car seats that were located in such cramped quarters.
I recall Lacey sitting in her seat located in the middle of the back seat. That allowed me easy viewing of her through the rear view mirror. Sometimes, I could hear her breathing change as she relaxed and fell asleep. Her peacefulness was reassuring, and I would look to see her little head propped on the side of her seat.
Over the course of a few years, Lacey would sing as she rode. As she looked straight ahead, her angelic voice filled the small interior of the vehicle. Her favorite song was Neil Diamond’s “Forever in Blue Jeans.” I can close my eyes and still hear her singing.
The most horrific sounds from that back seat came on Sunday evenings when we returned home from a weekend in Cookeville to visit grand parents. Lacey had a sixth sense that kicked in every time we were still several miles from home. She’d sleep as soon as we left Cookeville, but upon awakening, she let us know the rest of the trip would be pure hell. She didn’t just cry; my daughter squalled. Her shrieks and sobs drove like spikes into the base of my spine. By the time the car pulled into our driveway, Amy and I were both shell-shocked and exhausted. We wanted nothing more than for Lacey to go to bed so we could flop in our chairs and try to regain our composure.
Dallas was a much better traveler. He loved to ride in the car. His time was spent looking out the window, jabbering baby talk to no one in particular, and sleeping. Oh, a couple of times the boy had been confined long enough and would fuss, but nothing like his sister.
I most remember Dallas riding in the back seat of my Pathfinder one Sunday afternoon as he and I drove home from a baseball tournament from Kingsport. My mother was in the final stages of lung cancer, and Dallas began talking about her. It was during that trip that I broke the news to him that his Mamaw wouldn’t get better and that before long she would pass. He lay down in the back seat and sobbed. I could hear him as he tried to choke back the tears. My heart broke at the same time his did. It was painful for both of us.
On a couple of occasions I remember the squeals from two children I was trying to flog while driving the car at the same time. One of our favorite family stories involves Amy and the kids. She was taking them shopping for Easter outfits. Their fussing and fighting with each other had drawn warnings from her. When Amy couldn’t take any more, she swerved the car into a subdivision street. Immediately, apologies and begging for one more chance came from both children, but they knew it was too late. Amy threw the car into park, removed her thin-soled sandal from her foot, and swatted Lacey and Dallas on the bottom. They got back in the car, and all that was heard the rest of the trip was the blubbering of two chastised children.
Madden is a joy to have around for a few days. He is a wonderful little boy. What’s more, he brings back the memories of two children who now are adults and who, in one case, now listen to the same kinds of things that Amy and I did so many years ago.
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