By Bethany Blake
May 08, 2008 05:00 am "Over the river and through the woods" cannot begin to describe a road trip with family. The most meticulous planning flies in the face of unanticipated frustrations and follies during a long drive to Nana's house. One small blessing: in the confines of the auto, there are relatively few spectators to the less-than-perfect behavior that inevitably ensues (adults and children alike), and even those few are strangers flying by at 65 mph. Nothing sets the tone right out of the gate than the eternal, infernal question. "Are we almost there?" There is no easy way to break the news that we are 15 hours from our destination. Naturally, my response, hoping to stave off whining as long as possible, was a saccharine attempt at eternal optimism: "Getting closer every minute!" After a while, the gang didn't buy it. As a child, my family didn't take road trips longer than a few hours, with travel accommodations far different than what my children experience. While there was no air conditioning, there were also no restricting seat belts. In a car the length of a boat, I recall getting sunburn on my back because I spent one trip resting along the length of the rear window in that useless space found in the back of 1970s sedans, usually reserved for a box of tissues and a bobble head. Safety standards ever-improving, we now know that I was a potential projectile should the car have stopped short, but no one thought about that then. In contrast, here was our family, some 35 years later, embarking on a 16-hour drive to South Carolina, all shackled to our seats like prisoners let out on a day pass. Not much wiggle room, marginal legroom, a bag of tricks and a boatload of snacks. Good luck. Especially with a 3-year-old Tasmanian devil. When I was a teen, a road trip was a break for freedom, an impromptu adventure with newly licensed friends, all of us aching to spread our wings and ditch our parents. Armed with beach bags, a cooler and tanning oil, we set out in pursuit of a San Tropez tan and boy watching. Windows down (no one could afford a used car with air-conditioning that worked), hair blowing across our faces, we thought we knew what it meant to be living. With abandon, we could have traveled 16 hours and not even noticed the time. But alas, there is only so far a gaggle of teens can get with a few dollars for gas and a curfew. On this trip, the only things we abandoned was our sense and the gerbil at home. It wasn't the 1980s, and there were three kids in the car. My hair wasn't blowing in the wind, because we rode in the comfort of air-conditioning with a car tight as a drum. The irony was not lost on me. The cooler was packed, but with juice boxes, Perrier and fruit. That irony bit me, too. But as one child from the back seat complained of another picking his nose, someone else piped in with a desperate need for a bathroom, and another country heard from announced imminent starvation due to the lame food I have provided, the reality struck me. Our family was about to spend over 30 hours together, within a few feet of each other. We were not in an athletic facility or waiting out a piano lesson. We were not racing out the door, responding to e-mails, or grabbing dinner on the fly before a game. We had 32 precious hours to simply be, and the challenge was ours not to squander it. The children had to compromise, play games, and be creative about how they spent the hours. Geez, we even talked! Who knew we would ever find the time? Hmmm ... could it be family road trips have merit after all? So upon our safe return, with the selective memory similar to that of experiencing childbirth, I began to plan a road trip for the summer.
Bethany Blake writes from Boxford.
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