While Bucket Seats Still Reign, It’s Romance That’s Been Benched

With parenthood, my husband and I have rediscovered the romance of the car. It is, after all, a small enclosed space, so physical proximity is required. There are few distractions--no dishes to be done, no laundry to fold. And best of all, it is a place where, by order of the law, our 19-month old son must be strapped into one place, and that place is not directly between the two of us. Ah, bliss. I smile and my husband smiles, and life might actually get interesting for a minute if it weren’t for these damn bucket seats.

In an era when we all moan about the dearth of intimacy, the increase of social isolation and the need for more hugs and kisses, I have one thing to say: Bring back the bench seat, especially the front bench seat. Those big, broad, cushiony seats so many of us grew up with, those generous expanses of opportunity and possibility that made traveling a luxury, and remaining stationary even more so.

Like the paternal corporations of the same time, bench seats provided a cradle-to-grave support of family--through the ear-nibbling, hair-ruffling courtship, the steamed-glass passion and the proliferation of little bottoms to the careful lowerings of creaky elderly joints.

These days, however, front bucket seats rule. Contained and separate and depressed unto themselves. Most compact and mid-size cars even have them in the back, where there is only the illusion of continuity. Because the seats dip, they are an impossible surface on which to change a baby, much less make one. And it’s not just an emotional issue. Bucket seats are harder on the back, more difficult to negotiate, especially for seniors. Which explains in part the popularity of the few remaining bench-seated behemoths--your Lincoln Town Car, your Caddy--among the senior set.

I rediscovered the benefits of the front-seat bench four years ago when, during our courtship, Richard drove his father’s car, a 1968 Chevy Caprice. Not only did it look enough like an undercover cop car to afford us sudden respectful parking opportunities, it had perfectly enormous bench seats. In all probability, we would have married regardless, but that seat certainly speeded the romance along.

Oh sure, there where drawbacks to bench seats. Very small children had a tendency to slide around a bit, and a plate of, say, deviled eggs could not be guaranteed safe passage. But oh, the benefits, and not only for amorous adults. For kids, the bench seat is heaven. You can sit cross-legged on it (yes, still wearing your seat belt), you can play Slap Jack on it, the dog fits on it, as do your pillows and coloring books and advancing troops of soldiers or Amazon Barbies.

A bench seat provides a satisfactory alternative to a picnic table should the weather become suddenly inclement, and when your folks are still standing back-lit in the doorway, yammering with your aunt and uncle three hours after they announced they were ready to leave and hustled you out to the car, the bench seat is cool against your hot cheek and soft enough for sleep. The bench seat is possibly the best argument for owning an SUV or large station wagon--the compact station wagons have back bench seats, but they’re a bit stunted.

I understand that bucket seats are more compact, more efficient and presumably make it more difficult to do things that might be considered dangerous in a moving vehicle. But when kissing your spouse on a fine winter’s night is one of those things, perhaps we need to rethink that design, and our priorities.

Mary McNamara can be reached by e-mail at mary.mcnamara@latimes.com.