I remember two variations on license plate games during car trips of my single-digit-age years:
- finding each letter of the alphabet, in order, on the plates around you
and
- making words out of the plate directly in front of you, the idea being to compete who could come up with the longest word
The first was more of a time-waster than anything else, but the latter had the potential for actual competition. Also set the ol’ neurons up for later Scrabble games, and even later, WordsWithFriends apps. 
Speaking of car trips, the Other Shoe and I went out of town for a college buddy’s wedding reception. (Mazel tov, you crazy kids!) He drove, and I dozed off on the way there. I woke up sobbing. I’ve never done that before. I’d dreamed, so vividly, of someone I hadn’t though of in fifteen years, who’s been dead for perhaps twenty, and I’m only just past thirty if that puts it in perspective. I dreamed a memory I hadn’t thought of in so long …
It was one summer when I was visiting relatives in Poland - I was walking with a gaggle of assorted cousins and neighbor kids back home one evening. I must have been twelve, maybe thirteen, and I doubt the oldest was older than fourteen or so. We were all just kids, but rural Poland was as safe as any 50’s-style nostalgia we Murricans entertain, so it was just us kids. I remember the big bright moon was already out, shining down on us all. This boy - and dammit, I do not recall his name - was walking next to me and out of the blue he squeezed me hand and told me I was pretty. I was shocked into complete speechlessness; while I may entertain delusions of hotness now, I was a quintessential ugly ducking and believe you me, nobody told me I was pretty, and certainly not random boys. I stammered out a “thank you,” and he responded with his “you’re welcome” in a construction so formal and old-fashioned that I’d rarely heard it - it literally translates into “you thank me for nothing.”
That was all - no kissing, nothing else, just that one moment. He dropped my hand after a few seconds, and that was all. I certainly hadn’t had a crush on him or anything, so this was all very unexpected and confusing.
A year later, my mother told me that my aunt had mentioned in one of her letters that he had died suddenly - some insect-borne fever is all I recall now.
And so, when I dreamed of him so vividly, that night I’d long forgotten, I could not remember his name even in my dream, and woke up with tears streaming down my face.
RIP, nameless boy.
(That said, the rest of our trip was splendid. It was great seeing old college friends again - some of whom wound up marrying each other, so it really did turn into a mini-reunion - and we always love, love, love getting a chance to visit Austin again. Must. Move. Back. SOOOOON!!!eleventy!)
).
We’ll figure out the day as we go along, I guess.
IMS = Information Management System. It’s real name is AIMS, Aging Information Management System so called due to the agency bein’ Division on Aging and also due to the fact that the dang thing is a dinosaur.