Last week, I was driving to dinner with my brother, his wife, and their two-days-shy-of-12-year-old son. It was Friday, around 5:30, and we were in traffic. And tired from our respective long weeks. My sister-in-law had a sinus infection that was refusing to skedaddle, too. Not perhaps the perfect recipe for a happy outing. 

But my nephew was eager to share a new song he’d downloaded — first with his mom, who was next to him in the backseat, and then with me. He offered each of us an earbud, keeping one for himself both times, and we listened in succession to “Fireflies.”

I’d never heard it then, but have already heard it several times this week. It’s a strange combination of bouncy AutoTunes-ish music and earnest pop vocals. It’s almost a children’s song, but carries hints of something deeper. It sort of seeks to be all things to all people, and I can’t decide if it’s succeeding or schizophrenic.

Judging by the air time it’s seeing, I guess it’s succeeding. It sure is a hit with my nephew, who is himself caught between boyhood and adolescence, veering between the un-self-conscious giggles of a little kid and the surly sulks that only a true teenager can deliver.

As we listened to the song, I was moved more by his excitement than by its charms. My mind has now turned that 15-minute ride into a crystal moment: the lights of the city sliding by, the amazed tone in my nephew’s voice as he repeated bits of his favorite lines, the exhaustion from a draining week turning into a shared warmth – in the comfort of a car full of fireflies.