Don't Breathe On Me

With the vast majority of our relatives living in New York, my parents piloted many a family road trip in the 1980’s to Long Island and Brooklyn when I was a kid. Depending upon whether our destination was an old standby or a new location, the driver and navigator relied upon memory, a road atlas, hastily written directions scrawled on a napkin while calling from a pay phone at Denny’s, or simply the kindness of strangers steering us back to the interstate.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Eu1yUazrUSw

Instead of Google Maps or Waze offering alternative routes due to a traffic back-up, we suffered through many painful constipated treks along the Mass. Pike, I-95 in New Haven, or attempting to access Long Island via the Throgs Neck Bridge. For some reason, it seemed as though road construction was always taking place during the peak of traffic volume throughout a holiday weekend.

Neither our four-door Chevy Impala in the early 80’s nor the Chevy Celebrity station wagon in the later 80’s contained television screens for the passengers’ viewing pleasure. (As an aside, I would love to be a fly on the wall of the General Motors R+D department when they decided to name a vehicle “Celebrity.” How the hell that ever got approved is beyond any comprehension.)

Meanwhile, a passenger’s Walkman might be a temporary escape, but Murphy’s Law correctly predicted that I either 1) forgot to load fresh batteries or 2) only remembered the Men at Work and Huey Lewis & The News cassettes. Usually, I would read until I felt like I was going to puke and closed my eyes to catch some shut eye.

The indentation of hard plastic from my sister’s car seat impaling itself into the skin of my cheek may or may not still be visible: a curvy longitudinal trace from eyebrow to chin, giving me the temporary appearance of a juvenile (and slightly paler) Chalky White/Omar Little. Speaking of which, I need this for my next phone: https://www.redbubble.com/people/obillwon/works/21053435-omar-little-the-wire-famous-people?p=iphone-case

A/C was not an option for our family to consider, because that is a privilege only people who drove Volvos or Saabs enjoyed, i.e. the rich folk who were tan and had beautifully feathered hair. How can I ever forget the thrill of victory when breaking the nearly unbreakable fusion between the sweaty underside of my pvc-sized, clammy quads and the glistening vinyl of my seat during a Fourth of July excursion to West Hempstead?

Fast forward to 2018. My family and I are traveling in a Chevy (naturally) through the White Mountain National Forest - one of the most beautiful places in New England. Our air conditioning capacity incites debates amongst the passengers about whether one should wear a sweatshirt - all while exterior temperatures are in excess of 80 degrees Fahrenheit. (To our European readers, multiply by 1.8 and add 32.)

We can drive confidently to any destination relying upon directions calmly spoken to me through the dashboard by any celebrity or accent of my choosing.

As a last resort for entertainment, in utter disregard for the natural beauty everywhere around us, we can queue up any song or video that our heart desires onto a hand-held television screen with the click of a button - at the price of a small fortune as we inevitably spill over on our allowable data.

And yet, notwithstanding all of the technological advancements of the last 30 years creating what would seem like an oasis for family interior driving environments that was conceivable only during a Stark Trek episode or the World of Tomorrow exhibit at Epcot Center, there is still room for discord in the environs at least among my Party of Five.

“Dad, tell her to stop humming!” “Your chewing is so loud - shut up!” “Get your head off my shoulder!” “Ahhhhhhhh - [he/she] just poked me in the eye/punched me in the face/pinched my arm.”

Yes. I could have used the mini-van instead of the Malibu. The individual seats for each child would have ensured at least a small buffer of space virtually eliminating inadvertent physical contact/breathing into perceived personal boundaries. We also wouldn’t have to play Tetris in the trunk rearranging luggage around my various lawn sports paraphernalia.

But why incur lease miles and pay for gas that would otherwise be better burned by the company car? Especially considering that in the past few days of shuttling around from our savings-depleting adventure locations (I think Whale’s Tale water park tickets cost $28 apiece for anyone between the ages of 6 months and 85 years - or maybe it’s 90?) we are spending a small fortune (Live Free or Die baby!) across the great Granite State. Well, I’ll give you two good reasons for the forced family fun.

Reason 1: Sunday. Due to the absence of any cell connection, devices were useless. The family was forced to [gasp] talk. As we crested that apex point between Conway and Lincoln on the Kancamagus Highway, the radio connection to the Portland Maine pop station got kinda fuzzy. So we turned off the music and began our coast downhill somewhere around the Kancamagus Pass, I guess? Don’t know why, but I decided to put the windows down. As the air whooshed around us, the girls started busting out a roller coaster song I’ve never heard in my life but is apparently old hat if anyone who uses Youtube kids knows anything: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GSDxhF6GIUU. Next thing you know, all three kids start holding their hands in the air and chanting all the words with extreme enthusiasm, up to and including through the hairpin turn and finally past the entrance of Loon. Their silliness set the tone for the rest of the day.

Reason 2: Butt cheeks. Or perhaps chocolate butt cheeks. Although I can’t recall specifically which, I’ll go with the latter.

Monday was approximately 120 degrees so I was craving a meal in a restaurant with air conditioning and a full bar. We went to a place we’ve enjoyed in the past that the Google said was open. Unfortunately, it was closed. (Technology be damned!) THE WIFE and I were forced to improvise and argue through clenched teeth and feigned smiles about locations and directions. Meanwhile, all open restaurants in a 25-mile radius were rapidly booking up to the point that we might have to wait 45 minutes or more! I know. The horror. (Yes, we are on the highest echelon of high maintenance and zero patience when it comes to our restaurant habits.)

After 12 miles of driving unknown roads while feverishly tripadvisoring and yelping with spotty cell connections, I executively decided on a previously unknown Mexican restaurant in Moultonborough. I should’ve left as soon as I realized the A/C only worked near the entrance of the restaurant. After a margarita first served with a fly inside and later re-served (no discount) sans the fly, plus a rubbery steak fajita for THE WIFE, we burned rubber back towards home. I remembered an ice cream place passed previously en route, which turned out to be abandoned and condemned - further alienating the trust and love of my family. I needed a shot of caffeine to sharpen my senses in the hopes of any redemption.

As I pulled up to an Aroma Joe’s drive-thru in Tamworth, a little voice from the back seat that was barely audible poked out through the back seat window before I could order my cup of coffee.

GUS: I’ll have two chocolate butt cheeks please.

Hilarity ensued throughout the car. I was so proud and blown away by my son’s bathroom humor, I even waited two minutes longer than I normally would before driving away because the drive thru employee was taking too long to take my order.

By the time we arrived at Dunkins in Albany and ditched THE WIFE in the bathroom as a prank enjoyed by all except my beautiful bride, we finally arrived at the general store for ice cream at a place we haven’t tried yet. Naturally, they were out of chocolate (Gus was PISSED) but he came around after settling on the Mocchiato ice cream shake. Granted he didn’t fall asleep until around midnight, but that’s neither here nor there. Long story short, we made it.

Bottom line, I love forced family fun. Special thanks to my parents for putting up with my brother and I rubbing keytars on our heads after that Christmas at Grandma’s and Grandpa’s. I think you were on the verge of infanticide by the time we got to Sturbridge so thanks for letting us off the hook. And big shout out to THE WIFE for being my co-captain on Air Malibu this summer and always. Love you and our little bugs, bug!