Dear Parents of Teenagers,
Is it normal for them to want to spend time with you?
Dominic got jealous of my trips with Gideon, so he asked if we could go somewhere together.
My head immediately exploded.
I’m not complaining. I just don’t remember even wanting to admit I had parents, let alone be seen with them.
When I asked him where he wanted to go, he had no suggestions.
Me: I know you don’t want to go hiking in a state park like Gideon and I do.
Him: No.
Me: What about a city like Chicago or Philadelphia for the weekend?
Him: I have a gamer friend in Chicago.
Me: I’m not going to go all the way there and hang out with you and some gamer person you barely know.
Him: What about a road trip?
Me: Sure, but no more than four hours. I can’t do a car trip longer than that.
Him: I’ve got it!
Me: What?
Him: The towing museum!
Me: đź’€
Back story:
When we all went to Chattanooga after Thanksgiving, we kept passing the International Towing Museum on our way to other, better known, sites such as Ruby Falls and Rock City. It became a joke:
One of us: Will we have time to go to the towing museum?
Another: After all, it’s the reason we are here isn’t it?
Like that. A joke. Because a TOWING MUSEUM?!
Dominic is CLEARLY my son, with a well-developed appreciation of the absurd.
So we went to Chattanooga last weekend.
I let him drive.
I let him pick a place to eat.
I let him pick the movie. (General Grievous is my favorite Star Wars character outside of the Han/Chewy duo [bromance].)
I let him sleep in.
I didn’t comment on the fact that he changed under the covers instead of in the bathroom like a normal person.
I did choose one activity: The incline railway. As many times as I’ve been to Chattanooga, I had never ridden it.
We were very interested in the Centennial Exhibits …
… until we realized it was just a few photographs along the hallway to the bathrooms.
After the railway, it was time for the main attraction: the towing museum.
The majestic quality of this museum necessitates its own post.
To be continued …
Observe and report 
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