The Roads Not Taken
When I was ten, my parents decided we were going to take our first family road trip to Boston, Massachusetts. My three sisters and I really wanted to see the east coast, and my mom had always loved the history of the city. In anticipation, we spent our free time researching things to do in Boston. We wrote a list of places to see, museums to speed through while my mom read every word on every placard.
At dinner one night, though, my parents announced that plans had changed. Our family road trip had a new destination. Instead of Boston, we were now going to Ohio, which was much closer to our home in Wisconsin. It was more financially feasible. They informed us, however, that we would be visiting both Cleveland and Akron. So basically, this was better than Boston.
Having never been to Boston, we didn’t argue. And, as it turns out, Cleveland and Akron were actually pretty fun. The six of us toured the Great Lakes Science Center and went hoarse at Six Flags Great America. We ate continental breakfast waffles with endless orange juice that squirted from a dispenser. My sisters and I felt sophisticated, urbane as we craned our necks at Akron’s cylinders of industry. This, the outer reach of the Midwest, was the furthest we had ever ventured beyond Wisconsin.
About two years later, my parents sat us down at the table. There had been talk of the west coast that year…
