road trips

I like to think that I'm a really good road-tripper. I drove down to DC this weekend with a couple of friends, and they noted how pleasant I was to travel with. Not because of my pleasant and easygoing disposition, but because I didn't have to stop for a bathroom break the whole drive. Which, I have to admit, is an essential attribute of truly expert road-trippers.

As flattered as I was, I have to say that, were it not for my dad, I would not be the road-tripper that I am today. He taught me everything I know about making the most of a drive. Growing up, we drove to every vacationing destination. Now, most people will tell you that if you're driving with six kids and two parents all piled into one car, you should plan to be on the road twice as long as the drive should actually take. My dad, however, would not hear of it. We stopped for nothing but gas. We ate in the car, if someone needed to stretch, they just kicked their feet out over the person next to them. And if you had to go, too bad. You should have gone when we stopped for gas.

Now, I don't want you to think my father is heartless and had no mercy. I can remember two distinct instances when he made a special stop, just for me. Both times, I had been in tears for at least thirty minutes, begging him to please, please, PLEASE pull over. because I could not wait any longer. So he kindly pulled over at the nearest bush. Well, once he stopped at the nearest bush. The second time, there were no bushes to be found, but he did let me hide behind the car.

I've been trained well.