Ah, the wayback. Such fond memories that word conjures up.
I also remember riding in the back of our pickup. My sisters and I used to sit with one person with her back against the cab and another lying in the bed with her feet on the tailgate. We thought it was quite amusing to impersonate someone with 6-foot-long legs. Then it seemed perfectly okay to ride in the pickup; now I would think it would be the height of irresponsibility.
I remember going to the Thunderbird Drive-in double feature, “Darby O’gill and the Little People” and Doctor Zivago. We took blankets and pillows and camped out on top of the car.
There were 4 kids in our family. But through therapy, I have sucessfully blocked them out. Big family reunions, I can relate (no pun intended).
My grandfather lived in South Georgia, nothing around for miles. We young’ns would pile into the pick up, two would sit on the wheel wells, the others would stand against the rear window, and the oldest grandkid would drive. Would I let mine do that today? No Way!
It’s actually called “the way far back.”
Ah, I threw up in the way far back seat of the 1988 maroon Ford Taurus wagon. All over the brand new leather bomber jacket. My best friend who had moved to Colorado was back there with me. This all happened when I was 10ish.
I’m not sure what my parents called that far back seat, but my girlfriend and I called it the “seat under the bed.” Of course, that was never around my parents.
I wonder if my parents ever figured out why I was always willing to settle for the chevy wagon rather than the T-bird. Of course, I would always begin by asking for my dad’s car just so they wouldn’t catch our motives but I would then consistently settle for mom’s vehicle after only my dad’s first, “Gee, son…”
I always felt guilty when mom had to replace the shocks.
TV