memory

There is a very faint, yet distinct memory when I was with my father as a child (around 6 or 7 years old) that is very dear to me. I was going to work with him that morning. He drove as the sun was rising in our old van with maps and trash stuck on the dashboard. I remember very specifically the warm feeling of the bright morning sun and the reflections of burning light. He stopped to get donuts that morning (which was exceptionally rare) and they were sitting in my lap. The half hour drive to his office in Tampa was much more of a day long road trip of pure anticipation. My dad and I barely spoke. I just watched as the golden dew drops raced each other on my passenger window, as he concentrated on driving. Looking back, it is a very dear and happy memory of my father and I on a very mundane occasion. To be honest I am unsure if there was trash and maps on the dash, because it seems very unlikely as the type of people my parents are. I am aware because of how faint this memory is that there is much I have subconsciously altered, including how I felt. It is a memory of happiness between my father and I, but it is very possible I was silently looking out the window with the sun in my eyes. It could have been just like any other day going to his office with him, except that no one else was with us.