Almost every summer of my teen years, I vacationed in Southern California with my extended family. My aunt and uncle graciously hosted me for roughly two months straight and treated me as one of their own. Quite a gesture if you consider they had three young, rambunctious kids of their own. Regardless, they took me in and I was one of the family.
Summer was an endless schedule of Little League baseball games and we spent a good chunk of our time traveling between baseball fields and pizza parlors. As you can imagine, we got in a quite a bit of quality time crammed in the car, a minimum of four kids and two adults… and a radio.
We were particularly fond of “More Than a Feeling” by Boston. Partially because it’s a timeless classic rock song. Partially because my aunt’s name is Marianne. Honestly, you don’t really need a good reason to love this song. It’s okay – just let it happen.
Five of the six usual passengers really enjoyed singing along – very loudly. My uncle would bang out the drum solos on the steering wheel. My cousin would rock out on the air guitar. However, one, who shall remain nameless, would shake their head at us in embarrassment, whining, “Guys! Stoooop!”, occasionally ducking down out of sight of the windows at a red light or as we pulled into a parking lot. I mean, really, our voices weren’t thaaat bad. I don’t think. Well, maybe they were. Who knows.