Are We There Yet?

Ah, yes. The good old-fashioned family vacation. Whose idea was this anyway? To shove a truckful of kids into a car, set off on a cross-country trek and call it anything other than a trip to the world's most evil dentist for a root canal with no Novocaine? I mean, think about it. We have the ability to be anywhere in the contiguous United States in 5 hours or less. What are we thinking and why do we care so much about the other two hundred and some odd poor souls we would be subjecting our innocent little offspring to?

We long for yesterday; for a simpler time when we spent every waking hour with our family and went everywhere together. But, what made those times seem so special, when these days it seems like a prison sentence, being subjected to the drip, drip, drip of the Chinese torture method? Perhaps it's because our parents were wise and knew something all along, that we could not possibly grasp; times were changing, we weren't as innocent as we perceived ourselves to be in our own minds, and one day they would receive the ultimate gift from us: payback.

I hate the people who founded this country, and all of her special 'family oriented attractions': from the national parks, to theme parks, to the beach communities, and so on. Have you bothered to look at a map lately, other than in your latest bug infested iPhone app? You can still buy them, you know. And, if you are as forward thinking, or paranoid, as I am, you can get them for free with your AAA Plus Platinum Special Rewards membership. Take a map, lay it out and study it. Give it a good, long look. There is not one of these worthwhile "attractions" within a reasonable driving distance from anywhere you may choose to live in this great country. It's a scam, and we are the naive victims of the game. Grr...

It all starts out innocently enough. You pile into the family truckster, or "man van", as some in my inner circle happily refer to it, children clicking their little seat belts over booster seats (mandatory until approximately 15 years of age, or 200 lbs., whichever comes first), or being restrained in the latest 16 point safety harness, everyone gleefully singing songs, or mapping out their evil strategy and then it happens: 5 minutes into your 16 hour pleasure ride into the 7th circle of hell, a teeny, tiny voice, thought initially to be springing forth from your subconscious, calls out, "Daddy...are we there yet?"

This one, seemingly innocent question, meant with the most honest sincerity (allegedly), has now set off an avalanche of follow-up questions, and statements, aimed squarely at the synapses in the brain which manipulate self control, irritability and sanity: "Daddy, I have to go potty." "Can we eat? I'm hungry. I need Donald's", and my favorite, "Mom! Sonny Poo Poo is touching me!" All, before leaving the cozy confines of your subdivision. The fact that this is an element of the American Dream, in any form, is as disturbing as waking up on the basement couch with Uncle John's arm draped over your side, drooling into your inner ear canal; or so I would imagine.

We do the best we can to disarm the verbal arsenal, or distract the attentively deficient, by singing antiquated songs, or playing ABC sight games our great grandparents used to play in their '42 coupes, but to no avail. This is the 21st century and they have far surpassed, by the age of 4, our capacity for what is real, tolerable and acceptable, and they make us pay. They make us pay for every meal we mandated a 'green' be flushed down into their little digestive tracts; for every time we refused to let them go play at little Susie Perfect's house because their attitude was a little off, or homework wasn't quite finished to the satisfaction of our illiterate neighbors with the hay field growing in their front yard. It's a brilliant plan, one that is clear in its intent and perfect in its execution: total destruction of the parental psyche, resulting in great rewards and feasts for little people everywhere.

We sit, argue with them and each other, teetering on the verge of complete dissolution of the family unit, until we look up in the rear view mirror and catch a glimpse of our little angels sleeping peacefully, some 30 minutes outside our planned destination and realize, 'This is what it's all about'. Then, in that sweet, sleepy voice, with just a hint of yawn, "Daddy...are we there yet?"
"Yes, buddy. Yes we are."

Until tomorrow,

Scott