Shows natural places for children to dream
In some ways, it’s the worst place to take a kid. If you’ve navigated the lousy layouts of some auto shows, if you’ve wrestled with strollers and runny noses and “I gotta go pee, right now!” or if you’ve engineered your plan around one kid who moves at warp speed and one who won’t budge, then you know the trials of taking in an auto show with the under-10 set. I’m going to suggest you do it anyway.
Years ago, when my sons were young, they asked if I’d take them to the Canadian International Auto Show in Toronto. I’d already been for press day, and hadn’t contem- plated going back into waves of people, but off we went. I presumed they’d get bored or fed up with the crowds, or be underwhelmed by the newest sedan on offer.
I was wrong. Auto shows are designed to thrum on all your senses at once, to make spinning displays that dazzle in a thousand candy colours beneath strategic lighting and loud music. Ads are rolling on huge screens, the aisles the midway, the cars the rides.
I forgot what children see, and how they interpret a world I take for granted. They’re not at an auto show to decide between trim levels on the Elantra; they’re at an auto show to dream.
I recall some eye-popping concept cars when I took the boys. I started to explain that few, if any, concept cars actually make it to market but I shut up when I realized they didn’t care. This was about the amazing idea before them, and the logistics didn’t matter. This was about imagining, and that’s all that was required.
I was reminded that a child’s perspective on driving is far different from that of the driver’s. Forever relegated to the back seat, we forget they don’t get to know where we’re going, only take in what passes by. There’s a reason kid’s love minivans: they get all that personal space, if not full autonomy. I like watching the minivan displays at car shows, and seeing how the ones who are going to be sit- ting in the back discover it.
We passed by a private exhibit, all those years ago. Collectors lend the show their cars, a generous thing to do, and a historically important one as well. My younger son spied a screaming yellow Lamborghini Murciélago, at the time his favourite car. The owner was standing nearby, and I instinctively grabbed Ari’s hand to stop him.
“Does he want to sit in it?” asked the owner. Ari’s face lit up brighter than the car.
“That’d be really kind,” I replied. “Thank you.” I fumbled for my camera.
“Five bucks,” said the owner. I paused, but paid.
The five dollars was worth it to see the look on my lad’s face. He posed, holding the steering wheel like he owned it. Now a grown man, he still has that photo.
If you hadn’t already, think about taking your kid to the car show. Let them dream a little bit.