Hey Dad, I Made it to Death Valley
And you were right.
It was more than 30 years ago. I don’t recall the circumstances, but I was in Las Vegas, along with my parents, my grown siblings, and their spouses. It was unusual to have everyone together like that, so perhaps we were celebrating some special occasion. I don’t remember.
Back then I liked gambling and partying and all the other hedonistic pleasures that Vegas has to offer. I suppose my siblings did too. My parents were not into those things, but they enjoyed having some good meals, and catching some shows.
The thing I do remember — distinctly — was the one day my dad inquired “Would anyone like to take a ride to Death Valley?” We all groaned — perhaps I the loudest — and answered “Uh, no thanks Dad”, rolling our eyes (again, maybe that was just me). He tried to convince us that it was a really cool place and worth seeing, but we would have no part of it. We completely dismissed the suggestion.
And back to the blackjack table I went.
Growing up, our parents took us on vacations all over the country — three kids and a dog — in a station wagon and a camper. God bless them. I can’t say I appreciated any of this when I was a kid, nor do I recall much of it, since I was the youngest.
