I finally get to ride shotgun in the car. I never wanted to ride shotgun again.

Podcast - Shotgun

For some reason, riding shotgun, or in the front seat was a huge deal whenever we went anywhere in the car. It was like graduating from eating at the kids table and allowed to eat with the adults. One day I did it. I finally won the race to declare shotgun as my sisters, and I piled in our mom’s car. She was driving us to school. And we weren’t just going to school, she was also going to work. As I mentioned before in my other writings, I went to the same school my mom taught at. For this particular story, I am not going to interview or consult my mom with any of the details. I wrote it for entertainment purposes. But I did play it for her, and my older sister, and the whole heartedly agreed with my story.
You are going to have to imagine what I’m saying is the truth. So help me God. Even though I am writing this as a fifty-two-year-old, this is the memory I have as an eight-year-old boy. I might be exaggerating on a few of the details, but you will get the point. Skipping to the point where my mom was yelling, “Let’s go”. Meaning it was time for all of us to hurry and get in the car. The race was on.
As I got in the front seat with backpack in tow, I was told to hold my mom’s coffee. I didn’t think anything of it. By the way, there were no seat belt laws. God was my seatbelt. Fortunately, we did not get in a wreck. I just had to hang on for dear life while holding her coffee. It was a harrowing commute. It seemed like my mom was driving 100 miles per hour. She was making sharp turns like no body’s business, and a total disregard for any dips or bumps in the road. And she was pretty vocal about all the idiot drivers in her way as she would occasionally hit the brakes. Half her scolding hot coffee was on my pants. We were on record time to beat the bell, and we did, albeit chaotic and intense. But I survived. I did not volunteer to ride shotgun ever again to the dismay of my older sister. She was all to familiar with holding the coffee. This story might seem over the top, but that’s the way it was. Most of that story is true. My mom recounts and starts to laugh.