Do You Have a License for That?

It’s always amusing to hear the tales of trips my friends made with their families when they were younger.  Each family has such a different way of doing things. 

Every time Daniel, one of our friends, starts a story about a family vacation he took, we cringe.  His parents were never very good at planning things in advance, which seems odd since they are a family of six.  One trip to Stanley began around six in the morning.  They loaded up the top of their Subaru, tied the luggage down and set off.  By seven in the morning, they realized that one of the suitcases they thought they had tied down was no longer with them.  They zipped back towards Boise and found that the suitcase was sitting on the side of the freeway.  Someone had paused in their morning commute, gathered up the entire contents of the suitcase, and placed it all in a neat pile on the side of the freeway.  The only thing missing was a toothbrush. 

The stories my husband, Brian, tells of the vacations his family of five took usually either involve his older sisters picking on him or his middle sister throwing up. My stories, about our family of four, generally don’t contain suitcases flying off the top of cars, throwing up or fighting.  My brother, Taylor, and I have always gotten along pretty well, for the most part.  It was never any real hardship to share the back seat of our white1984 Honda Accord.

I can still picture myself sitting in that car with the happy blue upholstery, the smell of sunscreen and the taste of Squeezits.  It was 1994, I was eight and Taylor was five and we were headed to Yellowstone. 

As any parent will tell you, it’s nice to have something to entertain the kids when embarking on a road trip of any great duration.   Since the drive from Boise to Yellowstone was about 6-7 hours, Mom and Dad needed something.  My mom, who has always been great at making things, sewed us these awesome pouches that slung over the back of the front seats and hung down in front of the two of us.  She decorated the edges with squiggly ric rack and there were several pockets for us to store our crayons, coloring books, travel games and snacks.  For a kid like me who liked not only to have things organized, but also to have lots to do, this was the perfect solution. 

No one remembers exactly how it started.  But many of the best things in life spring from spontaneity.  I’m willing to bet it began because I was talking too much and perhaps, with all of my eight years of wisdom, telling Dad how to drive.

“Do you have a license for that?” Mom asked. 

My brother and I looked at each other in confusion. 

“No,” I said.

“Well, if you’re going to be a back seat driver, you have to have a license.”

“How do I get a license?”

“I’ll make you one.”

Mom took a small piece of paper and turned it into the thing that would keep us occupied for the next few years on car trips. 

In the upper left hand corner she drew a picture of me. She then put my birthday and a few other random facts.  Then she drew a cool symbol and wrote after it “backseat driver’s license.” Taylor wanted one too.  So she made him one. 

Then, since we had been given permission, we started to call out many and confused directions. 

“Slow down!”

“Go faster!”

“Take a left!”

“No. A right!”

At some point this faded into giggles and we, like all little kids, lost interest.  I poked Taylor. 

“Do you have a license for that?” Mom asked. 

By now, I had this figured out. 

“Nope. Can I get one?”

“You have to apply for one through the licensing committee,” Mom said.  “Which is me.” 

“Ok licensing committee, can I have a license to poke Taylor?” 

“Let me see your previous license.”

I handed my license up to her.  “Hmmm. We can give you a license to poke your brother one time,” she said as she started drawing. 

“I want one to poke Jana!” Taylor said. 

“You must wait in line,” said Mom, the licensing committee. 

Soon we had licenses for looking out the window, sitting cross legged, eating a snack, drinking a Squeezit and looking at each other funny.  We outgrew the front and back of the little pieces of paper and so Mom, who is always prepared for every eventuality, taped more paper to our original licenses so that we could continue applying for more. 

When we got to Yellowstone, we had to put the licenses on hold so that we could enjoy nature.   We ohhed and ahhed over geysers, stared at fountain paint pots and tried to see all the colors featured in the steaming hot pools. Taylor’s two favorite things were the gurgling mud and the bison.  I liked Morning Glory Pool and the geysers. 

Prior to our arrival, we had heard a tale about a bison that fell asleep on the doorstep of a cabin.  The residents had to climb out the window so that they could venture out to do their sightseeing.  Since we stayed in a similar kind of cabin, Taylor’s greatest hope was that a bison would plop himself into front of our front door so that we would be forced to crawl out the window. Unfortunately, or fortunately, we never experienced this first hand.  If only the bison had thought to apply for a license, then anything would have been possible.