I tend to look back when the Christmas Holidays come around. There’s a barrage of noisy colorful reminders, such as the non-stop Christmas music and classic Holiday movie reruns. These annoying annual traditions, like mall Santas, only come around once a year, and I’d be disappointed if they didn’t.
But this year is different because Mom, aka Oma, isn’t with us. The general atmosphere is quieter and less festive. She passed in March, at age 92. Oma stayed busier in “retirement” than most people half her age. There were no signs of slowing down, except when she started to set her cruise control at 72mph on the freeway to make sure she wouldn’t get pulled over.
Should she have been driving on the freeway, you ask? Maybe not, but she was determined to live life in the fast lane as long as possible. Mom was the epitome of the Energizer Bunny, so there was disbelief by all when her battery ran out. A surprise, like when a 6-year-old car battery dies on the first winter freeze in Michigan. It worked great until it reached its limit…and you realized afterward you knew it wasn’t going to last forever.
Unlike a battery, we can’t replace our loved ones. Instead, we have stories and shared experiences to pass on. For me, Christmas brings back lots of great memories. For example, when I was young, our family loaded up the 1968 Pontiac Catalina for a weeklong vacation in Florida. Like the Griswald family in National Lampoon’s Vacation movie, flying was never an option. We were resigned to travel via the Interstate freeways, as did everybody else in our Detroit suburb neighborhood of Farmington.
But Christmas in Florida? Wow! It was a dream come true. Florida was an alternate world known to 12-year-old me as Paradise. We watched Flipper and Sea Hunt on tv. Flipper starred two kids, Sandy and Bud, who lived in the Florida Keys with their dad and a pet dolphin. They were always having adventures boating, snorkeling, and solving mysteries that even the Hardy Boys would be envious of.
Vacationing on a beach in Florida was the next best thing to living a life like Bud. My younger brother Mark and I waited impatiently for school to end so we could escape winter and travel to the Silver Sands Motel on Key Biscayne. We didn’t know we would have to share a tiny motel room with Dad and Mom, after driving 3 days straight to get there. Minor details.
After the last day of school before vacation, I was ready to leap in the car, fantasizing about the tropical bliss that lay ahead. However, before we left on any trip, Dad would pack the car the night before. It usually took several hours. No one else was qualified to perform this complex and meticulous job except Dad. It must have been a skill he picked up in the Navy, and he relished the challenge of packing for a long-distance vacation. All we could do was bring stuff to the garage and gape in awe while he worked.
Christmas presents, luggage, coats, beach stuff, tennis rackets, first aid and emergency kits were inserted into the cavernous Pontiac trunk and manipulated in and around each other until every inch was filled and the trunk would close without slamming it. Blankets, pillows, refreshments, books and miscellaneous items were stuffed between me and my younger brother Mark in the back seat. Nothing could be retrieved or found until the car was unpacked at the final destination.
The drive itself was 1400 miles of torture for me and my brother. Endless hours in the car with Lawrence Welk playing on the radio or Dad singing “King of the Road” and Bing Crosby Christmas carols – no Beatles or Monkees songs we like to hear.
The roads up North were always in bad shape due to damage caused by salt and freezing weather. Sitting in the back seat, there was a constant thump of wheels rolling over repaired cracks in the asphalt. Imagine how it would feel if every few seconds you drove over a mini speed bump. I would rather have been drugged by Dramamine or a sleeping pill to knock me out for the ride. Things you wouldn’t notice in a short ride become really irritating when you’re stuck in the back seat for 500 miles. Just sayin.
Besides being an expert packer, Dad wanted to drive the whole way to Florida himself. But eventually, overcome with exhaustion, he’d let Mom drive at times. She’d put the pedal to the medal when Dad fell asleep, but he had an inborn radar alarm that woke him up every time! This scene was repeated until we switched drivers at the next pee stop. I really don’t think the old man ever slept when someone else was driving besides himself.
There wasn’t much to do in the back seat. I doubt my brother could see anything outside the window other than billboards, freeway signage, and the semi-trucks that passed us. So, we would fight over important things like, “Your foot’s on my side of the seat!” until Dad would threaten to stop the car and make us walk. Where were headphones and video games when we needed them? Our only escape was to read comic books or count license plates until our eyes were burned out from the strain. Then we’d find something else to fight about. Not a fun ride for parents, either, I have to say.
To break up the long drive, we stayed overnight twice with relatives along the route. In the evening, we opened early Christmas presents and played with cousins before getting back on the road the next morning. There was no pretense of Santa showing up anymore!
One time Dad took an exit in Georgia to get gas. We were stuck behind a line of cars at the stop sign when the car behind us bumped us from behind. Uh oh!
Dad was one of those car owners that washed his car every week, changed the oil, rotated tires religiously, and didn’t allow any smoking or eating in the car. He had his mad face on and got out quickly to see what the damage was. We were peering out the back window to watch the action. Were the cops going to show up and delay our vacation?
The driver behind us was pulling a trailer and he approached Dad sheepishly. In a deep Southern drawl he said, “Ah’m sorry. Ah sneezed and rolled agin ya.” Dad looked at the bumper, which appeared to be fine, smiled, and told him it was no problem. He wanted to get to Florida and wasn’t gonna let a minor problem interfere. There were many times we quoted that man’s words. It became an instant inside family joke when someone messed up!
Entering Florida on I-75 South, it was obvious this was no place like home. The flat land had different trees and vegetation. It seemed more junglelike. I rolled down a window for fresh air and noticed the change in temperature and humidity. No need for jackets now.
Large billboards advertising fresh orange juice and souvenirs drew us in like moths to the flame. As soon as the car stopped in the parking lot, my brother and I tore into the store for orange ice cream and souvenirs that would likely be lost or broken before we started the drive home. I was really interested in the live baby alligators and preserved gator heads. Sadly, neither was allowed in the car.
It would take the whole week of vacation to recover on the beach before we repeated the long haul truck driver experience on the way home.
Florida really was Paradise for a 12-year-old boy from Michigan. My brother and I went body surfing in the Atlantic, hung out at the pool, played shuffleboard, ogled girls in bikinis, and got sun burned. We were free to roam around until dinner. Dad and Mom stayed near the pool and would take off in the evening to go out to Hai Lai or dinner sans kids. I wished we could stay in Paradise forever but sooner than later all vacations end.
It was worth the long drive, and besides, it built character and endurance that would later come in handy for running marathons & climbing Mt. Shasta. Funny, but the long road trip to Florida is more memorable than the vacation itself. I appreciate my parents for planning that trip and have had many similar trips with my own kids while they were growing up.
So, this Christmas I’m celebrating a Season of Gratitude. I’m thankful for family and friends that are no longer with us and everyone that still is. Life is a long road trip filled with potholes, detours, and roadblocks. And there are beautiful scenes and experiences along the way, too. Even if sometimes you hate the ride, have faith you’ll look back someday and find some humor in it. If not humor, just think of how much character building you’ve accomplished!
