Road Tripping

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May I say a few words in praise of my Mom and her influence on my desire to travel? When I was a kid, not many people jumped on a plane for a weekend getaway. Fares were too high, flights too infrequent. Anyone over 40, as I am, certainly remembers lots of road trips. Families--well, at least mine--thought nothing of hopping in the car and driving eight hours or more to visit friends overnight.

Orchestrating those trips was my father, the Army colonel. Which meant reveille was before sunrise, and packing was a martial art. Making all this bearable was my mother, who never failed to have a basket of sandwiches and snacks and drinks ready. I didn't mind long trips because I had the entire back seat to myself--until my pesky brother came along when I was seven. If the colonel was feeling jolly, we'd get to stop at a Howard Johnson's, the only place in the world where banana ice cream actually tasted like bananas. And the hot dogs came in those toasted and buttered bread rolls.

I'd look at the homes along the road and imagine what my life would be like if I lived there. I still do that. I attribute my desire to wander to my father who was posted all over the world. And to my mother who made the moves and the trips adventures for her sons...thanks, mom. And happy Mother's Day weekend.