My father and mother took their three sons on one vacation each year when we were growing up in the 1950s and 60s. I remember three or four station wagons, including one with the back seat facing the rear, with first dibs to me, the oldest.
No seat belts, no harm, even when we were rear-ended at a stoplight somewhere in North Carolina. It jolted me enough that I dropped my Superman comic book, but the car only dented the heavy steel bumper.
My engineer Dad wasn’t a small talker, and at 12, I was still listening. “The Interstates will destroy public transportation,” he said during breakfast at The International House of Pancakes.
I thought about his offhand comment as Rebecca and I traveled around Scotland by ScotRail and then rode BritRail to Nottingham, England, which we explored on City Transport Tourquoise Line 79.
He was right, of course.
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