Memories of Y

A couple of weeks ago, I ventured out of familiar territory to an old friend/foe. The "Y" on the mountain has always been some sort of beacon, a keypoint on the map to Grandma's house or family gatherings.
I sat by myself on this recent journey, in the back of my parents blue Durango. I stared at that "Y", remembering....
Mark and I as children, arguing vehemently in the back seat about some cartoon or music principle. Mom would interrupt us loudly, cutting off our argument, "I see the 'Y', who else can see it."
Silence would take over while our child-enhanced vision searched the mountains for that important point of the journey.
Upon finding it, the argument always continued with a new subject; who saw it first.  I saw it first recently, no argument there. My parents didn't have to point it out and it makes me miss childhood. How little things like the "Y" on the mountain could bring me a sense of satisfaction.  Adulthood is so complicated.

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