Previous Challenge Entry (Level 2 – Intermediate)
Topic: Car Trip (07/18/05)
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TITLE: Hours | Previous Challenge Entry
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07/19/05 -
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We moved from Georgia to Virginia when I was about halfway from the impressionable age of eight, to the ripe old know-it-all nine. One sunny summer morning we loaded the car in eager anticipation of our quest. I envisioned arriving at brightly colored, wooded cliff overlooking the ocean. With this image in mind, the first hour passed quickly. And then, suddenly, the vision faded and time seemingly ceased to pass.
A young child has no concept of time. I was awestruck when my mom said, “only five more minutes,” and knew exactly the moment that time was up, without a stop watch! So, to explain to the two young querulous children in back, that we would be to our new home in 10 hours, only meant that an eternity stretched out ahead of us.
"Idle hands are the devil's work tools." This adage came to life in the back of our second hand Mercury Marquis. The car did not allow enough room for both my brother and myself to lie down and take a nap. Invariably, one of us ended our trip curled up on the floorboard. I love my brother dearly today, but in those circumstances it was impossible to even like him. We were both versed in the art of how to precisely annoy the other. A low, quiet hum could send him over the edge, yet kept me from trouble with the parents, as I appeared perfectly innocent while he was pitching a fit. Crossing the invisible line that we had drawn in the seat between us was the technique my brother most employed to drive me batty. As my mother always warned, horseplay eventually led to fighting, and even the most fun games ended up with one child threatened with a spanking at the next exit. I never thought to wonder why my parents prayed so often. Now, I’m convinced the prayers were offered not only for the safe travels of our family, but also for the safety of the two youngsters in back who were about to be disciplined.
How my poor parents endured our drives from Virginia to Georgia to visit our relatives, I will never know. Yes, after the first miserable journey, we did endeavor to take more. My parents attempted to become more creative in distracting us from torturing one another. Experimenting with video games, they quickly learned that those games with no volume control were to be banned from existence. The license plate game could only last so long driving through South Carolina, for not many Hawaiian, nor even South Dakotans ventured in the South by car. Travel bingo was be far the biggest hit, though Mom, riding in the front seat, had the best viewing advantage and therefore always won, much to my disgust. This and eventually induced my competitive refusal to play a game I couldn’t win. Twenty questions sprang up as the evening grew dim, a last desperate attempt to sidetrack the cranky kids. We never did arrive at the white cliffs of Dover, but the vinyl sided apartment complex we pulled into the next morning as we arrived at last in Virginia seemed inviting all the same.
Amazingly enough, today I love road trips. As I open up the sun roof, turn up my favorite CD while singing along at the top of my lungs, and eagerly anticipate the open road ahead, a bubbly joy wells up. Perhaps the absence of a pesky little brother, the comfort of being able to stretch out my legs full length, and the luxury of stopping whenever or wherever I want lends a bit more luster to the adventure. And I offer up my own prayers, this time not for patience to endure my little brother’s antics, but of thankfulness for a safe vehicle, sunny skies, and a praise God for a clear road ahead leading to a rare weekend visit with my now precious, beloved brother.
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