This morning after my lake swim, my thoughts went through some old memories and pulled out carpool.

The first carpool I remember was to gymnastics with Lisa A., Lisa P., and, I think, Laura. Each trip, we would switch who had to sit in the front seat. Seems a little backwards, but is it, really? Up front, apart from being the Dying Seat in the case of a crash, you’re up there with the Grownup*, and that’s not fun.

As opposed to the party in the back, with all the friends, and the talking and the bonding and the whispering. My life up to age 30 was ruled by FOMO. And here I can see the origin story. So the person in the front [when it was me] would whine, and beg, and say how much she hated it there. And my mom was a saint for not yanking me out of the car and punting me into the pine trees.**

I remember when she did yank me out of the car and yell at me. It was for a very good reason. We all had to be double-belted with someone, because that’s how you rolled in a big group back then. How many tushies fit on the back bench? Four? Move over, Brooke needs a space, too. So I was trussed up with Mike. Actually, more accurately, he was bound up with me. Poor Mike. I was upset and crying the whole trip that I didn’t want to sit next to Mike, I hated Mike, and Mike sat quietly, because at 3 years younger than me, he was a really nice kid.

Now I’m remembering all the carpools. (Sorry–cars-pool.)

-Swimming lessons with Laura and Lara and the latter wouldn’t stop crying the whole way, every time, because she hated swimming, and Laura and I would roll our eyes at each other unsympathetically.

-Riding home from ballet with Shira. I loved it because her parents would let us ride standing on our heads in the backseat with our legs in the back window. My mom told me not to do that. Sure, mom. I’ll sit correctly while Shira has all the fun.

But the carpool that was on my mind this morning was the Hebrew school carpool. It lasted 6 years, and we loved it. Each parent was a different experience. My mom would entertain us. For theatrics, she prefers the under-18 crowd. But I will tell you a secret: she is a funny lady up there with the likes of Fanny Brice, Anne Meara, and Mel Brooks. And she’s a secret, unless you’re a minor.

Alan would sing to us when he dropped us off. Ian was very serious. But my dad let us cuss. It was sheer freedom for 10-year-olds from middle-class, white suburbs.*** We got in the car, and we’d gear up to start.

“Well, shit.”

“Damn!”

“Yeah…shit!”

And then there would be a triumphant silence, and then an existential silence, and then a silence of disappointment, until someone saw the Mayfield billboard and changed the subject.

 

Before I go, I’d like to say something to Mike McCauliffe. It’s a private message, but you can read it, too.

Hey, Mike. I hope you’re doing well and all your dreams came true and also that you voted for Biden. I am very sorry for my behavior that day in the car. I was a very troubled and depressed kid who was afraid of people. You handled it like a champ. If you wanted to, I’d be honored to be stuck in a seatbelt with you again.

 

*That’s the way I always thought it should be spelled. And I’m a very good speller. So however I want to spell things is correct. I SAID GOOD DAY!!!

**It was Atlanta. It’s mostly pines.

***We’ll get to that later.