Can we stand up?

When we were little, there were no seat belts in cars.  Technically, I think they were available, but they weren't standard and they weren't required, and no one had them.

When we would go on long drives, particularly to the cottage or some of the long drives we would take from the cottage, such as to the Cascades in Jackson or to Kellogg's of Battle Creek, David and I would ask for permission to stand up in the back seat.  This was the height of favor (and of course, in retrospect, folly).  David would stand behind dad in the driver's seat and me behind mom in the passenger seat (mom didn't have her driver's license and in any case, until dad couldn't drive, he always drove).  Carol, of course, hadn't been born yet.

When we had the sky blue Bonneville that was the prettiest car we ever had, about a year after we got it, dad had seat belts installed.  And one of the consequences of the new seat belts (just lap belts; shoulder belts didn't exist) was that we could no longer stand in the car.  Dad made it clear from day one that he had put in the seat belts for the seat belts to be used.  And that meant that the boys could no longer stand in the back for love nor money.

But that was dad:  if he invested in something, he expected it to be used.  By him and by everyone.

Of course, that did instill in us good seat belts habits long before they became mandatory, long before seat belt use was mandatory.  But that privilege of standing up in the back was something I certainly missed and I suspect David did, too. We felt like kings when we were standing in the back, plus we were physically that much closer to mom and dad.