Good People

Cars have always been something that have taken me from point a to point b. I was never one for a looker, I just want to make sure I’m safe. When I first bought my CRV, my brother looked at me and asked if I was actually a 36 year old mom with another one of the way as he checked my backseat for the car seat. Ha, Ha, jerk. I never truly recognized how a car can hold so many memories.

A first, terribly awkward, kiss in a mini van.
The time my friends put me in a trunk of a Ford Focus and we drove around like sixteen year old morons.
When my mom taught me how to drive in her Nissan Pathfinder. And then decided to get me private lessons.
Road trips to Cape Cod in my Subaru.
When my brother crashed my forest green Sunfire while I was on vacation. My family decided it would be cheaper to bolt the front bumper back on- so we named it Frankenstein. And then it got hit by a school bus. And I still drove it around.

A car holds so many stories for so many people.

When my best friends boyfriend bought his Ford Country Squire, I have to be honest, I laughed. Ford Country Squire- like… from the Griswold’s family vacation?! Yes. Just like the Griswold’s only less green.
I have my own memories of this vehicle and though they are hazy due to time, they are fond. Back when we would all get together as a big extended family, we would squeeze into the station wagon. My cousins and I would fight for the seats in the way back. At a solid 55mph, you would feel infinite as you faced out towards the backside of the car.

When the offer came to drive the Ford Country Squire to go see Jack Johnson last night, there were no questions asked. Six of us crammed in and began our own Family Vacation, myself as the “chosen one” to sit in between mom and dad for the journey to Jones Beach. It felt like a genuine road trip as we whipped down the Ocean Parkway blasting cassettes and singing at the top of our lungs. A little Beastie Boys, a little Prince.

We pulled into the parking lot like a bunch of champions. Champions ready to dine of Subway. The meal of Champions.

And I can’t explain it, but there is something insanely special about popping down, no chairs, no preparation whatsoever, for a semi-impromptu Jack Johnson concert with your friends. And by semi-impromptu I mean we spoke about buying tickets but did not follow through until this week. And we got the perfect weather, and the perfect scenery, and the perfect group. 
And the car soon became a focal point for multiple people- they came up to us and asked to take pictures of the car, sit in the car, and told us about their own personal stories. One guy recalled laying in the back with his two sisters and sleeping the whole ride down to Florida with his family. He smiled from ear to ear- his wife told us that she has heard this story for the past 11 years and possibly the millionth time. As a group we sat there creating new memories.

When the time came to go into the concert the sky was filled with stars, voices, and an array of potent smells.

We sang, laughed, and felt like we were sixteen all over again. And it’s the small moments that pass us by that culminate into your unique life. We drove home together, reveling in the amazingness that is Jack Johnson. What a night.

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