In the summer of 1991, my parents took my brother and me on one of those "explore the west" minivan vacations. You know the trip that includes stops at Yellowstone, Mount Rushmore, the Black Hills...and, if you were a savvy travel researcher in the pre-innernets era like my mother was, the Corn Palace in Mitchell, South Dakota, and the Jolly Green Giant statue in Blue Earth, Minnesota. It was the classic American family vacation for two children who were classic American whiners.
Mom & Dad certainly knew my brother, David, and I were giant pains in the ass. They knew that, unless they were brilliant and strategic in planning the trip's activities, they would spend hours trapped in a Dodge Caravan listening to "Owwwww!," "I'm not touching you," and "Shut up."
So they planned some games for us, the chief one being "License Plate Game," which involved watching vehicles through the window and being the first to shout out the states in which they were licensed. For example, if you saw a car from Virginia the goal was to be the first to shout, "Virginia! I got it!" And then you could count Virginia as "yours." And as long as your opponent hadn't "gotten" that state, you could continue to call out cars from Virginia as a defensive move. Winning required an intense dedication to observing oncoming traffic lanes, parking lots, and the handful of cars my safety-conscious father would dare pass ("Dad, drive FASTER," was a common command from the back seat.) Mom even gave us each one of those dry-erase U.S. maps and markers so that we could color in the states as we "got" them. Needless to say, David and I didn't like this particular game.
We motherfreaking loved it.
By the time we reached South Dakota, we were so consumed with this competition that we could barely function outside of the "License Plate Game" bubble. In fact, when we arrived at Mount Rushmore, David began racing through the parking lot, "getting" license plates instead of viewing one of our nation's most inspiring historical tributes.
Because c'mon: Only we could turn the thing that was supposed to prevent us from being annoying into the most annoying thing EVER.
And I've now been playing "License Plate Game" for two decades.
It was early in my relationship with my now-husband that we took a car trip together and I shouted out, "North Dakota! I got it!" His life has never been the same. He's become my primary "License Plate Game" opponent, even though we don't have the maps and no one's really even keeping score. We're just sort of always playing. And I'm sorry to say he's a terrible opponent. My eyes are much better, and I have a firmer grasp on our nation's many license plate designs. In fact, his only hope is to beat me when I'm not in the car -- which is something he certainly tries to do.
Because if my husband had been our third sibling on that van trip, he would have been right there with us, shoving my brother out of the way in order to "get" Alaska at Mount Rushmore. It's a freakish nerd quality about him that makes me know we're the perfect match. I can't help but smile when I receive a random text message in the middle of the work day that says, "Delaware. I got it."
Pshaw. I got Delaware at the Jolly Green Giant in 1991.
