If you take a minute to think about your life and all of the places you've been, you probably have special memories at certain places you won't ever forget. Maybe you've been to another country, have gone on a relaxing vacation, camped in the wilderness, or saw a famous landmark somewhere. All of which would in fact create memories; good, bad, or even both. The places you've been and experiences had there probably hold a place in your heart. I know mine do. But I'm not going to write about exotic countries, vacations, camping, or the Grand Canyon for example, not yet anyways. Today I'm going to write about parking lots and the drive from one home to another.
As a kid I would visit my Dad every two or three months, though sometimes it would end up being longer just because of our schedule's. Once a designated weekend was chosen, my Mother and I would leave on a Friday afternoon. We'd listen to country music but always had to switch to the Boston station when we were about halfway there. The first place we met routinely was the parking lot of a Holiday Inn in Marlboro, Massachusetts. The hotel was right off of the exit, and there was a winding road up a hill to the lot. I was always excited driving up it, ready to see the Maine license plate parked in between the white lines.
After we made the switch and I watched my Mom's car go one way while my Dad and I went another, I usually got sad and didn't talk much. As soon as he mentioned going to Friendly's for dinner, which is one of our traditions, I would snap out of it. After all, there's nothing Friendly's Hunka Chunka Peanut Butter ice cream couldn't fix. The rest of the ride was easy; there was never any major traffic and Dave Matthews CD's would be on replay.
On the ride back towards the Holiday Inn parking lot, we'd listen to Dave Matthews once again, or the song "Highway 20 Ride" by the Zac Brown Band. We'd talk about all sorts of things or all the fun stuff we did over the weekend. My Dad always left a little earlier than we had to so that we would have time to play around in the parking lot. Sometimes I would bring my rip stick to skate around with or we'd play pass with a golf ball. The golf ball was always a bad idea though because somehow one of us would miss a throw every now and then, and it would bounce around like crazy through multiple rows of cars.This kind of added a thrill to the old game of catch as well. When my Mom pulled in, up the long, winding road, the games were usually over. After my Dad and I's special handshake, which consists of a high-five, spin around low high-five, and jumping, we'd say goodbye and make the switch once again, with the same emotions as when I had previously left two days before.
Even though the meeting spots have changed over the years, the same routine occurs at each one. As we all got older, lots of things have changed. I think the only thing that has stayed the same is the music choice, which I've realized isn't such a bad thing. These parking lots have seen lots of reunions, tears, laughs, bouncing golf balls, and watched all of us grow. Though it's been hard switching back and forth between two homes, the car rides to and from will always have a special place in my heart, and so will those parking lots.
