It was all coming back to me: sitting in the backseat of my dad’s 1993 Jeep Wrangler as my older brother tries to navigate a manual transmission. My dad in the front with the patience of a squirrel, reiterating the key points of the stick-shift like one of his well-worn lectures on the importance of Herodotus, and my 17-year old brother as receptive as a freshman in that required Ancient Civ course. I as the little bro, there to offer my advice, to mock, to get bored. Those early attempts in the empty parking lot of the little league field went as you’d expect.
Stalled out
