Lost on the Road of Life
But is that a bad thing?
“Are we there yet?”
I’d lost track of how many times I’d asked. Apparently, it was one too many for my dad.
“If you don’t stop asking I’m turning the car around.”
My mom shot me a look from the passenger seat. I think she was just as tired of the question as my dad. The air in the backseat thickened. Neither I nor my two sisters wanted to turn around. The drive to the grandparent’s house Christmas morning meant more gifts. It meant returnable sweaters for cash (just as long as grandma didn’t knit them). It meant pants-stretching meals and leftovers to take home afterward. It also meant a two-hour car ride.
Unlike my sisters, motion sickness prevented me from reading, as it did drawing and using the spirograph someone gifted me earlier in the day. Anything remotely fun would only compound the headache caused by my dad’s desire to blast NPR. The monotone delivery of hosts. The unshakable theme of “All Things Considered.” Maybe turning around wouldn’t be so bad if a brought an end to the AM radio.
“But I’m bored. What am I supposed to do?”
“Take a nap. It’ll go faster that way.”
Dad’s suggestion to shut me up was usually to sleep. Not that he had many other options. I couldn’t read, he…
