On Sunday we visited my dad for Father's Day. It got me thinking about some of our family history, vacations and such.
In August of 1972, when I was about to turn nine, we took a two-week road trip from Rhode Island to Florida and back. The centerpiece of this trip was a visit to Walt Disney World, which had just opened the previous fall. Our vacations were always car trips, because air travel was still prohibitively expensive for a working-class, single-income family of five, but also because my father enjoyed driving. Typically we went to Cape Cod or Lake Winnipesaukee, but this was the biggest trip we ever took, and as family vacations go, it was a really good one.
I don't mean to skip over the trip itself, but one of the reasons it stays with me is because of something that happened on the way home. We were approaching Washington, DC, and there was some major road construction going on. I'm pretty sure my dad was trying to find the Beltway in order to go around the city, but we ended up in the wrong lane and soon found ourselves on an off-ramp, heading for an unplanned detour into downtown DC. My parents weren't big on museums and cultural attractions, so the sights and sites of our national heritage weren't intended to be part of the trip.
We passed a few landmarks, including the Lincoln Memorial. I remember that one in particular because that's when my mom pointed out the window and said, "Oh Johnny, look, can't we just stop for a little while, since we're already here?" My dad's knuckles were white as he gripped the wheel, and he yelled, "Shut up! Shut up! I can find my way back to the highway if you'll all just shut up!" I would have been happy to stop, but I also knew better than to try to win that argument.
Yeah, good times. I didn't actually make it back to our nation's capital until almost 20 years later.
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