My most distinct memory of my childhood roadtrips are neither of the stops nor the destinations. Rather, what I remember are water beads traveling across the car window, and the relentless bidding I did for one to slide past the other.
My puritanical parents believed in the professional pursuit of technology, but not in the playful recreation of it. When I was deprived of the virtual world of slingshotting aviary friends across a field, I had the opportunity to explore the reality of gravity and wind resistance that determined which water beads rose and which water beads fell.
I moved out and started my own life, I saw the water and end the race with the stroke of a windshield wiper. As an adult, I’m preoccupied with driving and no longer take in the drive.
But now that coronavirus has turned my life into a picaresque roadtrip confined to the passenger seat. By letting God take control, I have the choice once more to focus on the beads.