The Highly Coveted Glove Box Pen
A Blog in 2 Parts...
Part One: In which I explain my very neurodivergent brain.
When I was little and had to tag along with either my Mom or my occasionally my Dad (in which case the item was a treat), I would be bribed to behave with the promise that I could have a little something at the store. Naturally, I would behave, staring dreamily off into space, contemplating what I should ask for. I would never ask for anything huge. I think the most I ever went for was a Barbie doll, but normally my request would fall in the candy bar, lollipop (or as I called it, a "sucker"), a pop, and my most requested item: a notebook.
I have, since I was a very very young child (think like 4 or 5 years old), been a firm believer that notebooks are the most valuable thing in the entire world. Do you know how much I could do on a single page of paper? I could have an adventure! I could either draw a comic or write a story about some far-off place. There was a time, somewhere around 2nd grade, that I would draw aliens in a big alien ufo minivan looking flying saucer. They would sometimes pull a camper and go camping at Lincoln State Park in far-off Indiana! And where would I draw these camping aliens? In one of the many many notebooks that my parents got for me. One notebook might have a sci-fi story about Princess Jessie and Luke Skywalker! In another notebook, you would find some poetry. In even another, you would find me trying to draw superheroes or cartoon characters or making up my own cartoons.
My parents might say no to candy, Barbies, soda, etc. but they NEVER said no to a notebook. And this brings us to part two...
Part Two: In Which I have inadvertently come up with the absolute most awesome Father's Day Present for my Dad ever in the history of Father's Day gifts. And also kind of explain the title of the post.
On these shopping trips, if I was with my Dad, the minute we were in the car I got my new notebook out of the bag and as soon as that was in my eager little hands, my eyes were set on their next goal: THE GLOVEBOX.
I would DIVE for the glovebox, spilling it's contents out. A map of Kentucky, the car registration, a hard rubber coin purse, receipts, car maintenance records, a tape measure (save that for later, gonna play with it) and the highly coveted glove box pen.
This pen was usually the most awesome pen that you've ever had the joy to write within your very young life. This pen, the click action was usually outstanding and a great source of "stimming" for hours at a time. Depending on his mood, whether we were allowed to ride in the front or not (we did that in the 80s), and whether or not I had a notebook would usually make the decision as to whether or not I was allowed to use the highly coveted glove box pen. 
One particular occasion, I found myself reaching for that glove box pen. "Now, Jessie," my Dad said to me. He looked at me sternly, pointing his finger. "Make sure you put that back when you're done." He mock-wagged his finger at me, grinning the whole time.
A wide-eyed me would nod emphatically in agreement. Yes, the pen would absolutely go back into the glove box. And I would mean it. Absolutely. One hundred percent. Yes sir! That pen was going back in the glove box.
My teachers surely told my parents that I was not quite all there, right? I mean, especially in a low weird behavior tolerance environment like a catholic private school in the 1980s. Throw in a little small town Kentucky for good measure and that's where it's a wonder I managed to escape as well natured as I am.
I KNOW they were like "Jessica is very bright and extremely imaginative. She is always writing, but she just needs to apply herself to her assignments." That phrase was all over my report cards.
Now, how this applies to the pens. Yes, the glove box pens. The HIGHLY COVETED glove box pens. My Dad, we have already established that he would allow me to utilize the pen. Usually, he would ensure it's return to the glove box by snagging it from me as soon as he turned the car off. Keys out, pen back in glove box.
But while in the car, that glove box pen was the key to opening the door to a new world. The notebook that I just got as a "treat" for good behavior? If the glove box pen is the key that unlocked the doorway to whatever story I felt like telling. Whether it was drawing camping aliens, creating my own fashions, writing what I would later come to understand to be known as fanfiction. Yep. And 100 pages in a notebook? I could do a lot of damage in 100 pages. Whole worlds, universes! I could flesh out the Star Wars story I had been noodling around in my head.
I would always try to find a way to make those pens disappear into the house with me. Either by tucking it into the spiral, or hiding it in my pocket, under my shirt, occasionally in my sock. That pen was coming inside with me. My thoughts were too valuable to lose without the use of a pen once I got inside! Sometimes I would succeed. Sometimes I would not.
Are you asking yourself why couldn't I just use a pen once I got inside the house? Because I was an ADHD child who went through markers, crayons, chalk, and any kind of art supply that I could access I would destroy with exuberance. I was ridiculously creative. I was always drawing, writing, sketching, and creating. I don't know if my Dad knew that by letting me play with the pen in the car whether or not he was allowing me some kind of freedom or not.
When I did have access to the art supplies I would go through them in extreme bursts of creativity. I would use markers. I would disassemble them and put them in glue to make the glue turn different colors. I would mix their colors together on paper, mixing the tips - dark with light. My yellow somehow ended up brown. Play-doh had to be strictly monitored. It was only allowed on the plastic place mat that from Disney World. When I was done playing with that play-doh I would have to make sure it went back in the correct cylinder. No mixing of colors - which I ended up doing anyway because I was hyperactive adhd. My dad always supplied me with secret pens, all of the scrap paper a kid could ever want, the love of writing and thus the ability to write as much as a kid would want. Art - I was not allowed to be messy if it could be helped. Dad let me go out to the farm and be messy. Messy was fun.
My Dad allowed me to be creative and so, I've decided to gift him a uniquely creative item. For Father's Day this year, I am giving my Dad a box of his favorite pens, from which he can stock his glove box from here to eternity. And ya know what? He's going to think it's the awesomest gift ever.
To this day, whenever my Dad rides in my car, he raids my cup holder for a pen. He knows I keep the really nice ones in there for him. I'll pick him up at the airport and just before we get out of the car when we get home or wherever, he'll snag it and just grin at me and tuck it in his pocket. He giggles, sometimes, too. It's very cute. My Dad has a wicked sense of humor. He will both appreciate my little joke and he will also appreciate the fact that I don't skimp on pens. I will probably still find a good portion of the pens that I'm planning on purchasing for him somewhere on his estate when he eventually passes (which, for the record, I don't think it's going to be very long time).
So your TL;DR? The Best Father's Day Present, at least for my Dad, is, in my opinion, a box of really nice glove box quality (the nice ones that click nice and write smooth) pens so he can stock every single glove box he has from here until eternity. Happy Father's Day Dad! Thanks for all the notebooks! Sorry I lost all those pens!
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