On our most recent trip to Richmond, I took Sam with me on a most critical errand: sample a donut from a different Richmond establishment. This time our destination was Sugar Shack.
|My accomplice has the goods.|
|There was a seventh one we ate. By the way, that blueberry in bottom right corner was one of the best donuts I've ever had.|
|The chocolate donut Sam and I shared.|
For as good as the donuts were the trip is more memorable for me because Sam came with me. As we were maneuvering car seats for his cousins, Sam got to wondering when he would be allowed to sit up front. We tested him in the seat to see if the airbag sensor went off, and it did. When I looked at the manual, that seemed to suggest that he was heavy enough and tall enough to sit there safely. But I was bothered by the number 12, thinking that age 12 is when one has clearance to sit up front. So I did some digging: 12 is the widely accepted standard due to size (Sam's okay there) and the nature of squirming kids. Usually a kid younger than 12 will squirm too much for an airbag to be of use. So I gave Sam a stern warning about posture and we were off.
Before I'm cast out into the leper colony of bad parents, I'd like to defend myself. Nine years old is a precious age. I'm still a hero in his eyes. Twelve ain't so precious, or at least so I hear. Rather than wait until a ceremonious day on or near the first of February in 2018, when the pre-teen Sam might prefer the back seat and his iPhone (or 2018 equivalent), I'd like to welcome up front with me the wonderful, cheerful companion I have now. Sometimes the safety and risk has to be secondary, and the chance to capitalize on age and attitude needs to take priority.