Are We There Yet?

My parents didn’t plan out our family vacations. Or if they did, they never revealed their plans to my brother, nor to me. Often the day before, we were told we'd be hitting the road the next morning; early in the AM; heading in the direction of Florida. 

Never once did my brother and I have homework to do while on the ride; never was there time to request any from our teachers. As much as I like spontaneity, I’m pretty sure this is one of the many reasons why now, as an adult, I feel more at ease when I have a plan. 

But as a child, I didn’t have a choice. And normally, while the roosters were still enjoying deep sleep, my brother and I were being stuffed in the backseat of whatever large vehicle we owned at the time. My parents always wanted to beat the traffic. Oddly enough, I never noticed any traffic. And after driving numerous times in LA, I know for fact that the traffic in Michigan does not, in any way, require a 3am wake-up call. I think my parents just wanted to have as many miles behind them as possible, before hitting the first McDonald’s drive thru. 

As erratic as my childhood was, I have many fond memories of these impromptu, yet yearly, treks to Florida. I remember passing many an hour listening to my Walkman while watching the scenery roll by. I remember license plate bingo and I remember never really stopping at many roadside attractions along the way. My parents, it seemed, were hell bent on making time. But I was young, and I didn’t mind. And if I did, I knew better than to give voice to any displeasure, questions, or attitude.

I also remember that Georgia seemed to last forever. After all, we were out of states that stood in between home and our beloved runaway place. And that’s what these trips were to my parents: a runaway.

I wouldn’t mind running away right now. A chance to clear my head. Part of me wants to stuff my kids into the Jeep and feel the methodical thumps of the road beneath my wheels. Instead, I’ll turn my efforts back onto what I’ve been doing over the last week; crafting my second children’s book. At the very least, its something that makes me smile. And in that small way - its a vacation for my mind.

Sane

PS. That’s my mother in the photo, tucking us in for the night after a long day on the road. My brother is the one looking up adoringly at my mother. I’m the little chub next to him, chewing on something.