One-Thousand-and-One American Nights

Day #2.

I'm driving into work with my dad again. The air conditioning is too cold, as usual. I wish he'd roll the window down. We talk about politics and I get animated, against my will. I wish it were possible for one passion to override another permanently, but I can always get up the gusto to discuss Marx and conservatism, I guess. We talk, we drive, we "bond."

We really do "bond," though.

---

I drive with my dad not only because of the high gas prices, and the obvious chance to "bond," but also because I can't stand the wheel anymore. The steering wheel, that is. Other wheels are O.K. Bike wheels, water wheels, and Ferris wheels are still all on my O.K. list. Training wheels I'm still back and forth on.

I even use a bike now, to get my small errands done at night after work. I've started seeing parts of the suburbs I've never seen before, and a few houses I'd like to break into. Well, not break into, but... borrow, temporarily. Timeshares, right?

---

I guess it's only temporary, but the arrangement makes me feel like I'm fifteen again. Being driven around by your father isn't the most manifying thing in world. But, as I get out of the car, I think about how I only have to wear these clothes for two more weeks, and that makes me happy. I smile, shake my dad's hand, think of her, him, whisper "I love you," and step into the sunlight. Good morning, world.

This is day two.