Longtime readers will recall a perilous journey I made with one of my daughters, then a 20-old microbiology major and hardcore K-pop fan who talked stream of conscience for literally the entire 16-hour car ride. Good times. Gooood times.
Recently, I had the chance to make a similar road trip with her twin brother, known not for his word vomit but instead for marathon video game sessions up in his room. I had no idea what to expect, particularly because he is now a recent college graduate with no clue about his future. In anticipation of perhaps whole states traversed in awkward silence, I had several Yacht Rock playlists and four episodes of Armchair Expert ready to go.
To my surprise, we spent 13-plus hours in delightful conversation, covering everything from anime series I need to watch (“Attack on Titan”) to his favorite cousins (“Alex and Nick”) to whether red dye 40 was actually bad for you (no). We savored biscuits at Cracker Barrel, missed being part of a seven-car pile-up thanks to a McDonald’s snafu, failed to answer correctly more than five Trivial Pursuit questions on a card (because baseball is dumb) and contemplated the wisdom of C-Span in ranking James Buchanan as the worst U.S. president over Andrew Johnson. It was wonderful.
I never got to sing along to Steely Dan or Kenny Loggins, nor did I get to enjoy Dax Shepard hanging with a neuroscientist. But I was able to engage with a child in a way I haven’t been able to in many years, without his sibling for distraction or the new Zelda game as competition. Truly good times.
Peace out.
