There's been a series of memes out there with a question, 'Have you ever ridden in a VW Bug?', 'Have you ever ridden in an old Chevy?' The one that turned up just now read, "Have you ever ridden in a station wagon?'

Yes. A red 1963 Plymouth Fury Station Wagon. It was the family car for years. It took us back east from California, the southern route more than once. Funerals, family reunions. No seat belts, no air conditioner. I remember screaming through Texas, Dad's heavy foot on the gas, doing 70 on a highway clearly marked 60.

"David, calm down," Dad drawled as I lectured my Southern father. "It's Texas. Add ten miles an hour t'any speed limit sign y'see."

This is the kind of thing my Dad would say that just infuriated me. The sign means what it says; 60 miles an hour means sixty miles an hour! but as we came up on the Louisiana border, a sign just over the line said 'slow to 65'.

My Mom would drive to the PX every other week for the Essentials. El Cajon Boulevard to 94, west to San Diego, then south on 42nd, then Division Street. It was every bit of an hour drive. For whatever reason on this particular trip,Mom only had my baby sister with her. Baby was maybe two years old.

Mom is concentrating on driving, but she keeps spotting, on both sides, people in their cars smiling and pointing at her. Mom ignores it all until she gets to the base, guard at the entrance sees the obligatory sticker on the window, snaps Mom a salute, then does a double-take as he looks in the back of the wagon.

Finally Mom looks back. Baby sis had crawled into the back, taken off all he cloths and, buck nekkid, with fetching smile, was waving at all the cars passing by.