It was a beautiful summer night. The sun was setting, with the moon already bright and full in the sky, waiting for its turn to shine. The breeze was warm. It felt like summer when I was a child, carefree and seemingly everlasting. Caught up in my nostalgia, I suggested the Carpenter and I re-live some youth and take the kids to their first drive-in movie.
First, you have to come to terms with how bad your vehicle’s interior really is, because there is something about a drive-in that changes the way you appreciate your vehicle. We had two choices; the Carpenter’s air-conditioned work truck, or my super sexy roll-your-own-windows-down station wagon, with a hatchback that won’t open.
The children chose the truck, as it comes with dangerous debris, sharp pointy objects, the aroma of form oil, and an impressive collection of brown coffee cups. It turns out there was also enough loose change in there to play video games into the wee hours, but thanks to spilled coffee you’d have to pull the gooey quarters apart.
But hey, that’s not a problem for this generation of kids. They have portable video games and never leave home without them. Apparently they need to be entertained while they are being entertained. Go figure. I was about to insist no video games allowed, but then I realized I might actually get to watch a movie after their ten minute attention span is up. Best to let them be busy.
Funnily enough, as we arrived at the drive-in, I looked in the mini-vans and SUVs around us (because I think only four people had actual cars, which is a commentary for another time), and I saw televisions on inside the cars, video game devices and iPods. I wasn’t watching a movie, I was living in one. It was a sci-fi freak-show. Some of my nostalgia was starting to fade.
Mind you, my first drive-in was in 1977, when I saw Smokey and the Bandit. I was 7 years old. The squawk box clung to the window and the sound quality had a charming tinny feel to it. There was a playground where we were free to run, to play in the traffic, and run between parked cars, spying on teenagers, mystified by steaming windows. Nobody worried about us. Kids were free to be kids. When the movies started, my cousin and I were nestled in our pajamas, with our Holly Hobby blankets and pillows, lying in the hatchback of a Pinto. Yep, the car that exploded on impact when hit from behind, so naturally, that is where the parents stuffed the children. Ah memories.
It’s not like that now. The radio in most cars has digital surround sound. All around us were luxury-style vehicles with all the comforts of a home theatre. Some even remembered to bring Windex. That impressed me. The Carpenter and I scrounged for napkins to clear the fog from windows. We shared a fleeting memory of when we could steam up windows together, in such locations, but that was interrupted of course, by the screech of, “Mawm…he ate my popcorn,” and, “Well, she took some of mine,” followed by “You started it,” and, well, you get the picture.
The movie came on. The kids were mesmerized by the radio and big screens working in unison right inside their Dad’s cool truck. Peace and popcorn. Summer nights. Awesome.