Once upon a time, we had a white station wagon we had gotten from the son of a neighbor. It was not without flaws. The front seat rocked on its hinges whenever Dad got in the driver's seat. There were a variety of other problems, too. But one thing it had was a seat that folded up out of the back hatch area. This seat only fit two people, and it faced backwards. Alan used to call this seat the "way way back," a term later used for the backmost row of seats in the van.
When Alan sat in the way way back, he and I would get to goof around even more than usual. Sometimes, we would sing goofy songs.
The more annoying and repetitive, the better!
The way way back has a special place in my heart, and I sometimes wish I could go there now.
