A license plate a day keeps the homesickness away

I have ridden along Interstate 95 more times than I can count. Though I see it less these days, being away at college and all, I still remember the frequent trips up and down the northeast corridor — going to New York, New Jersey or both. What made those hours in the car, along a stretch of road lacking any surprises, all the more exciting?

License plates. 

When I was younger, my father introduced me to the “license plate game.” Many play it in their own ways, but his version involved seeing how many different state license plates we could spot on a single road trip. The game kept me on my proverbial toes while still safely buckled into the backseat of my family’s gray sedan. I would keep my eyes glued to the window, calling out when I saw a plate from a new state; more excitingly, I would call when we saw one uncommon in the region. I mean, why would someone drive all the way from California to the East Coast?

Growing up with the game 

My father tells me he started playing the game because his mother — who, coincidentally, I get my middle name, Natalie for her Naomi, from — taught him to play it on family vacations. They would drive everywhere because his father — a United States Air Force doctor — was afraid to fly. This is not a joke. 

In one of his email-length text messages, my dad tells me that he, his mother and his brother would always be on the lookout for plates. Either his mother or brother would maintain the trip’s running list, but his mother stole the show with the little songs she would sing when they saw certain states — like “M.T.A.” by The Kingston Trio whenever a Massachusetts plate came into view. Other favorites included “This Land is Your Land” by Woody Guthrie and Bob Dylan’s version of “Home on the Range.”

When I started getting more serious about the license plate game at the end of my sophomore year of high school, I made checklists in my Google Docs for each trip we took. Each list had the trip dates and states we crossed throughout the trip. After all, it’s less impressive to see a New Hampshire license plate when you did it during a drive through New Hampshire. 

The game also accidentally led to me teaching myself where certain license plates are more common. U-Hauls generally have Arizona plates, and big trucks can either be Indiana or Maine. I became less surprised seeing those on the road. 

As the game got more serious, more of my immediate family joined in. We expanded the competition — between ourselves and the world, that is — to cover months. How many different states could we find in September? What about October? November? The months when we didn’t travel were especially exciting. What could we accomplish on just our home turf?

Disclaimer: Our home turf is, after all, Washington, D.C. Tourism certainly gave us an advantage.

Nevertheless, license plates became something I would keep my eyes out for every day. I relished every time I found a plate we were missing for the month — especially if it was rare. A few times, however, my father nearly crashed because I got too excited and yelled upon seeing an especially rare plate. 

With every passing month, we got increasingly more serious about how we collected our data. For a while, we searched for an app that could handle our search, and in February of 2022 — during my senior year of high school — we found one. Suddenly, our games became a lot easier to track, and we’ve been using the License Plate Games app ever since. 

Moving on … sort of

In August of 2022, my family had a tough decision: how — or if — the game would change when I moved across the country for college. Being the oldest child, we hadn’t had to think of this yet. Ultimately, we decided to become a split-coast team instead of competing against each other from opposite ends of the country. Some may say this is cheating, but it eventually would become one of the ways I learned how to cope with living 3,000 miles away from home. 

When I left for college, I took the iMessage chat with me. My sister and my parents became inundated with texts that were just the names of states as we updated each other on the sightings each month. 

Not shockingly, my move to the West Coast yielded a world of “new” plates and patterns. I began to see more variations of West Coast plates and delighted in the plentiful diversity brought on by the nature of a college campus. When I met my boyfriend, Daniel, and started taking advantage of the fact that he had a car, he and I would walk through the Shrine Parking Structure and point out license plates from near and far. This also might be cheating, but we would sometimes remember that particular cars were always there — which definitely helped us check off Arkansas some months. 

As I explored parts of Los Angeles for the first time, the license plate game added a layer of excitement. I would stare out the window of whatever car I was in and examine not only the buildings and scenery we passed but also the cars on the road, searching for states we hadn’t yet collected for the month. I learned the frequencies of certain states’ plates in my new vicinity — including what I still think is a strange amount from Illinois — and adapted my expectations in tandem. Suddenly, finding a license plate from Oregon on day two was commonplace. 

The search for number 51

While there were many months in which we came close to finding all 51 license plates — including D.C. as is proper — we would always be left disappointed by a straggler or two … or more. In one particular month, Daniel and I found ourselves scouring the parking lot at Spudnuts after a football game in a last-ditch attempt to see Wyoming. In another, Nebraska evaded our gaze. During my first December back home, even with the aid of both Los Angeles and San Diego’s bountifulness — the former from earlier in the month and the latter from Daniel during break — we could still not fill the Hawai‘i-sized hole in our list. And in January of 2023, Wyoming laughed yet again as it hid its cars from our view. 

February 2023, however, was different. 

Perhaps it was my mother, on a trip to India for work, who may have inadvertently blessed us with good fortune by sending a picture of a license plate from Delhi after I requested “literally any [plates] you find,” just as the new month began. In her defense, I walked right into that one. 

On Feb. 2, my father performed a miracle and produced a Hawai‘i license plate while still in the Nation’s Capital. On the fourth, I added some Southern California regulars — Nevada, Montana, Idaho, Utah and Washington — with a sprinkle of rarity: Iowa, Kansas and North Dakota. While slightly common for the area, North Dakota is still an infrequent guest on our monthly lists. 

Two days later, I entered the Shrine Parking Structure again and added seven states to the list. Including regulars from both coasts, we were well on our way. Would this be the month? Might we finally spot all 51 for the first time?

Four minutes after my C-SPAN fanboy father commented on Arizona Senator Kyrsten Sinema’s outfit for the State of the Union address the next day, I found Maine. Two days after that, he pulled a rare Kentucky and Louisiana. Another two days later and, the South found my father again in the form of an Alabama license plate. 

During this month, we developed our official policy for out-of-state assistance. On Feb. 17, my friend in Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania, sent me a picture of a Wyoming license plate by his dorm. Could it count? My father’s verdict: “would you give him/her one of your kidneys if a transplant was critical for their survival ???” 

Yeah, I would. The plate counted for a full 22 hours before, in a stroke of luck, I happened to see a Wyoming on the road in L.A.

On Feb. 19, several of my friends and I piled into Daniel’s minivan to drive down to San Diego for the day. During the trip, we saw multiple South Dakota plates (which we needed), multiple Hawai‘is (which we didn’t), as well as Nebraska and New Hampshire. 

Down to two. 

Our kidney rule came back into play on Feb. 26: Daniel’s sister spotted Alaska back in San Diego. One left. 

That night, Daniel and I were ready to hunt. We had decided Mississippi — our holdout — was common enough in L.A. that we were ready to scour the USC garages. After dinner at Everybody’s Kitchen, we set our sights on the McCarthy Parking Structure. 

First floor? Nothing. Second? Nada. The two even had back sections that were less than helpful. The lights inside were dim, and the place was cold and kind of wet. I was getting ready to call this one a dud and check the Shrine in the morning. And then …

Some states, dear reader, do not require cars to have a valid license plate on the front. As such, I made sure to walk around and check the backs of any car in the garage that denied us a front plate. On some occasions, Daniel thought I was being a bit ridiculous. “A Tesla would not drive all the way here from Mississippi,” he would say. I still checked. 

Near the end of the third floor, I spotted a Lexus with no plate in front. As I walked around to check the plate, Daniel aired his skepticism yet again. “A Lexus from Mississippi?” He asked. 

“Oh my god!” I exclaimed.

It was. 

Daniel rushed over as I stared at the plate in disbelief. “Oh my god!” I said again, beginning to jump up and down for joy. We knelt down and took a selfie with the plate, ready to send it to my family with an excited text. We had found all 51! But I had to do something else first. 

I didn’t care that it was now midnight back home; surely, he would be awake anyway. I called my dad and showed him. Both of us were ecstatic — we had accomplished a feat years, maybe even decades in the making. 

After I hung up, I screen recorded myself checking Mississippi off on our in-app list. In my excitement, however, I think I forgot to send the video. Regardless, I typed out a victorious message — five texts, actually — and broadcast it to the family group chat. We had vanquished the proverbial dragon that we had set our eyes on long ago.

It’s never over, though. 

On March 1, 2023, I sent the next text in my family group chat: “While we may have achieved all 51 plates in February, THE GAME IS NOT OVER!! Send in any [plates] you see for the month of March!!” 

The next day we had at least 19 plates. Back to business as usual. 

And the game goes on

Since February 2023, we’ve managed to spot all 51 plates seven more times. And at the beginning of each month, regardless of the outcome, I tell my family to refresh their memories and be on the lookout once again. 

I’ve never wanted to stop playing the game, even if I manage to spot all 51 a certain number of times or somehow get all 51 plus all of the plates possible from Canada. Why would I? It’s become a fact of life. I’ll continue to blurt out the names of states as I see their plates on the street and pass the game onto my children on a fateful road trip. 

Why? 

I think the license plates have been a subtle — or not so subtle at times — reminder of my intrinsic connection to my family. Each time I find a new or rare plate for the month, the group chat cheers. I see the plate and think, “Well, I’ve got to tell my family!” Oftentimes my father will follow up with, “How are you? How’s class?” 

Other times, I don’t notice the connection, but looking back, it’s definitely been there. How else can I explain the warm feeling I get when pointing out already-found license plates as I walk or drive by? Why does the analysis of a plate design make me feel simultaneously ecstatic and nostalgic? 

Wherever I am, wherever they are, one of us will always have a plate to send. It’s a built-in conversation starter, a cheat code to catch up on life. I’m not sure if I should call it a tradition or something we just … do. Whatever it is, though, I’m glad we have it.