Little Things
April 14, 2026
Alex KiersteinThe Kia Sportage left a big impression on my son, and not for reasons you’d expect.
My oldest son wouldn’t get out of the Kia Sportage. Not for any reason related to the Sportage’s competence as a compact crossover. It’s fine, although in my opinion its major controls trail behind the company’s E-GMP offerings by a wide margin and its transmission calibration is truly weird. But he was enthralled by something in the front row. Kia’s retractable cupholders, little arcs of plastic that retract into the side wells of the front storage cubby in between the seats. Press a button, and with a snick they flick out.
Closed, it’s a relatively open L-shaped bin, impinged upon by the old-fashioned-seeming PRNDL shifter and some control buttons. Deployed, you’ve got a great place to put a couple of smaller bottles. Nalgenes are out of the question; regular diameter soda cans and to-go coffee cups fit fine. While not quite as versatile as the type of cupholder that has four spring-loaded gripping flippers, it does work well for the type of drinks it is designed to hold. And you can flip out either or both.
None of these details really mattered to him. Raising a neurodivergent kid, for me, is sometimes about bringing fewer preconceived notions into a situation. So his fascination with the cupholders wasn’t necessarily unusual, because I’m attempting to avoid classifying situations this way. Something about it really intrigues him; lean into it. Give him time to indulge his curiosity.
This happens a lot when pulling into the driveway in a loaned vehicle. For one, anything involving searching, exploring, is very gratifying for him. Scavenger hunts, for example. I think crawling around an unfamiliar car, exploring all of its storage bins, seeing what is in the flip-down rear armrest, checking out who has a grab handle and who has a hanger hook by their seat, trying out buttons and levers—it’s a big dopamine rush.
Part of it is tactile, sensory. I can really identify with that. I don’t exactly share his neurological profile, but I completely share his love of manipulating physical buttons and controls. The science center in Seattle had a Gemini capsule mock-up with rows and rows of toggle switches; my desire to endlessly flip them far exceeded anyone’s patience to sit outside it and wait.
He also loves to discover how things work, from more of an engineering perspective than I can manage. His mechanical intuition, his physical dexterity, far outstrip mine. The kid builds complex 3D wooden mechanical puzzles, marble runs and other Rube Goldberg-ian contraptions, and if one of the hundreds of little wooden gears needs a dab of glue to fix it, it takes me all the concentration I can muster to figure out how it went together and what part needs to attach to what. He’ll whip through a build in an afternoon.
He sat there, in between the front seats, clicking the buttons and pushing the cupholders back in, for at least 30 minutes. I conjured up some patience, patience I’ve had to learn to save up, patience I don’t naturally have. I helped his brother get inside and grab a snack, and returned to the car to give him a little more unguided, uncompromised time with the cupholders. I spent that time trying to see the Sportage from his perspective, as best I could imagine. I thought about the positive mechanical feel of the cupholder buttons, the spring tension that flicked them out. I thought about what parts of the design he liked, and why; what was gratifying enough about it to capture his attention for so long.
And I was just present for him. I could just be with him, enable him to be curious, adjust routines and commitments and so forth to let him spend the time doing it. To explore the little things that naturally capture his attention. And, yes, to wait my turn to play with the cupholder a bit.
I don’t think it should drive your purchasing decision, but they really are delightful to operate.
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