Lee Geiger

“Please come to Boston

For the springtime

I’m staying here with some friends

And they’ve got lots of room”

Dave Loggins, “Please Come to Boston” (1974)

Remember the scene at the end of the movie “Good Will Hunting,” where Matt Damon’s surprise no-show prompts one of his gang to hop from the backseat to commandeer Damon’s shotgun sanctuary? I do, because I’ve always believed that where one sits in a car can symbolize the dynamics of many relationships. It’s why I drive whenever The Pretty Blonde and I go anywhere together in my car. Driving satisfies my pathetic ego, making me feel I’m in control, like I really am the man of the house. And the Pretty Blonde has gone along with this charade for over thirty years. Conversely, she takes the wheel whenever we travel somewhere in her car, signaling to yours truly that she can get along just fine in this lifetime without me, thank you very much.

The same is true with our kids, as they evolved from bouncy backseat baby boosters to clamoring for the car keys. Taken one step further, there comes a time in a parent’s life when you get into their car, when they’re the ones in control of the wheel, when you buckle up and go wherever they decide to take you. That life-changing event happened in a metaphorical sense over this past Easter Weekend, a three-day whirlwind of family activity that, were it ever to be made into a movie, would be forever known in the Geiger household as “Backseat in Boston.”

The transformation commenced on Good Friday. There we were at Lo Conte’s Restaurant in Boston’s North End, the quintessential Italian eatery, sharing dinner with two of my Amos Tuck b-school buddies and their wives. Stashed upstairs in a virtual private dining room, my oldest son Ross, who had just celebrated his 25^th birthday one week earlier, sat at one end of the long table in between Mr. Big Time Banker and Mr. Insurance Guru, absorbing like a sponge every tidbit of corporate wisdom they served up. And here’s the twist; they were listening just as intently to Ross’ detailed description of the business disruptions caused by his employer, a Boston-based consulting start-up firm called HourlyNerd.  I sat quietly during the majority of this three-hour food feast, a proud fatherly spectator busily absorbing a plate of spicy rigatoni Bolognese faster than a wood chipper set to overdrive. I learned a valuable lesson that evening: fat, fed and former is a fantastic way to go through life.

Saturday featured a field trip of all-things Ross. On a vintage New England spring day, The Red Headed Kid took us on a Beantown excursion, hiking from his cozy Beacon Hill apartment to his favorite bakery (Tatte’s Café on Charles Street), his favorite place to earn a paycheck (his office digs on Summer Street in the Seaport District), and his favorite place to savor a beer and a pretzel (the Harpoon Brewery). Joining us for this family sojourn (Keith Geiger, a.k.a. The Skinny Kid, drove nine-hours from Pittsburgh to join us for the weekend) was Ross’ roommate, otherwise known as Miss Gal Pal. The two of them, who became an official couple shortly after both graduated from Brown in 2013, are thicker than thieves, and it is clear by the respectful way they look at each other that they are soulmates, confidantes and, most important of all, best friends. In Ross’s eyes, Mom and Dad are still relevant and necessary, but he doesn’t look at us the same way he did while growing up. Nor should he.

Which is precisely why Ross set up a Saturday night introductory powwow with the parents of Miss Gal Pal. This inaugural meet and greet of the parental units took place at Gaslight Brasserie, a lively and sophisticated French restaurant located in Boston’s South End. To say we were impressed by the pair of life-long Rhode Islanders would be an understatement, especially given the extremely high bar set by their wonderful, off-the-charts-smart Harvard PhD-bound daughter. It didn’t take long to recognize that the apple didn’t fall far from the tree. Ross, meanwhile, sat stone-faced at the far end of the table and observed the proceedings like an appellate court judge, his toes crossed that I wouldn’t let too many skeletons emerge from the Geiger family closet. I managed to muzzle myself and not let him down. I’m nothing if not coachable.

Easter Sunday was a family affair. Once again, we followed Ross’s lead. He selected for brunch a delicious Cambridge establishment called Alden & Harlow, where he insisted we order what he described as “the BEST kale salad in all of Boston.” Whatever that means. Against seemingly insurmountable odds, I actually liked that collection of leafy green stuff. We followed brunch with what has become a Boston family tradition; a visit to Toscanini’s Ice Cream shop near the campus of M.I.T. Life was good. Sadly, given our flock’s coast-to-coast domiciles and busy schedules, this half-hour walk might be our last family congregation for quite some time. By dinnertime, instead of one last family meal out on the town (and on Dad’s credit card), Ross coerced us into a stay-at-home supper of quinoa and pizza, two words I never thought I’d hear mentioned in the same sentence. To Ross, this is a meal. To me it’s an oxymoron.

A conclusive truth emerged from our trip to Boston, and The Pretty Blonde and I are only too happy to accept it. This is Ross’s town. This is also Ross’s time. And the view from the backseat is tremendous.